The Serving Girl Who Became Queen
by energis121
Summary: Guinevere has given up on her dreams of one day marrying Arthur. She tells him as much. Destiny, however, has other plans. This story begins in an altered version of 4x11 'The Hunter's Heart' and goes AU after that. Re-posted.
1. The Return of an Old Friend

**A/N: This story was apparently blocked/removed for no apparent reason. So I'm posting it again. Hopefully, it'll go over better this time. If it doesn't, I give up. I _do not_ have the patience of a saint dealing with this site's tantrums requires.**

* * *

Guinevere raised her head sharply as she heard a sudden eruption of voices and noises around her, coming face to face with a crossbow aimed right between her eyes.

She caught her breath. This enchantment made perfect sense now. When she first came to and realised she was a doe, she couldn't quite understand why her old mistress had chosen to transform into this particular animal. Now she understood.

As she looked at Arthur's focused eyes, intent on hitting their target, she understood just how cruel Morgana had become. She would have her killed by the man she loved more than any other.

Well, Gwen was not about to let that happen. She bounced forward, avoiding the flying arrow her beloved had shot by mere inches, before breaking into a run. She was still rather unsteady on these new legs but she could also feel an emerging, burning sensation in her shin and, as she cast a furtive look at the ground beneath her, she noticed little specs of red.

She realised the arrow, while missing her head, had still grazed her leg. No matter, she could still run.

And run she did. She ran as fast as she was capable of, making sure to throw the hunters off trail as best as she could.

"That wasn't a very good shot, milord", was the last thing she heard before going out of earshot, wondering who this unfamiliar female voice belonged to just as she felt more arrows cutting the air behind her.

* * *

Merlin hadn't gone to Arthur's hunting trip that day, even if the King had insisted. He just couldn't bring himself to merrily trot beside his friend and the princess Mithian, pretending like Gwen never existed. So, he feigned an illness and, when Arthur still wanted him to come along, made a big show of just how clumsy his burgeoning fever made him, leaving his master no choice but to tell him to stay put…for everyone's sake.

So Merlin had stayed in all day, briefly hearing the sounds of the hunting party's return from Gaius' chambers. He didn't come out to help Arthur after his trip, still hiding behind the pretense of an illness which he made sure Gaius would inform the King to be highly contagious.

It wasn't until the next day that Merlin finally ventured outside his room. Disregarding Arthur's morning needs (the man could dress alone for once), he went for a stroll through the lower town, finding the walk relaxing. It helped calm his irritation over Arthur's recent actions. Sure, Gwen had kissed Lancelot, who Merlin knew to be a shade, but that didn't give Arthur the excuse to do what he was doing now. He was about to marry for _convenience_, just as his father had wanted him to…just as Arthur had firmly refused in the past. Merlin knew his friend was hurting, but that was no reason to disregard years of trying to do things his way…marrying for love, that is. Of course, Merlin also knew Arthur could never love another the way he loved Gwen.

It was thinking of his banished friend that had brought him to the doorstep of her old house. It was still empty, as many were reluctant to occupy it.

Merlin paused at the door, thinking back of the times when things weren't so complicated. Arthur loved Gwen. Arthur wanted nothing more than to marry Gwen. It was as simple as that, back then.

The young warlock was lost in his thoughts, not paying much attention to his surroundings. It was why he jumped when he felt a hand on his forearm. Looking past the worn fingers and the hood that covered the person's face, he gasped.

"Gwen," he whispered in both surprise and happiness, instinctively moving in for a hug. She halted his movements with a firm hand on his chest, causing his eyes to widen in questioning.

She shook her head slowly. "I can't draw attention to myself," she spoke quietly but hastily, casting furtive glances to the side to make sure no one had seen her. "I only came to warn you."

There were so many thoughts and questions flying through Merlin's head but the urgency in her voice forced him to push them all to the back of his mind as he focused on her words. "Warm me?"

"Well, warn _Arthur_," she clarified, a pang of sadness shooting through her at the mention of his name. "But we both know I can't see him, so I came to you."

"What is it?" he queried, sensing this was a very serious matter. Gwen would not risk coming back to Camelot unless it was a matter of life or death.

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't have time to explain how I got the information, but you need to know that Morgana is in cohorts with the warlord Helios. They plan to attack Camelot…soon."

"They have to know they'll never succeed. The defenses - "

"They have the plans of the siege tunnels under the citadel," she cut him off, making Merlin's eyes widen in shock. "Agravaine gave them to Morgana," Gwen added, wanting to make sure Merlin had all the information.

The warlock stiffened from head to toe. He'd known of Agravaine's true allegiances for months now but he never thought the traitor would be so bold as to risk stealing those plans.

"You have to tell Arthur," Gwen urged when Merlin didn't speak again, "He needs to know."

Merlin squeezed her hand in reassurance. "I'll make sure he knows the truth," he told her with conviction, making her sigh in relief.

"Thank you, Merlin. I must go now," she spoke hurriedly and moved away from her friend, pulling the hood over her head tighter as she began to walk back in the direction she'd come from.

"Halt!" she heard a voice yell behind her and she froze in dread, feeling as though the blood in her veins had turned into ice. She knew that voice very well.

She broke into a run, knowing it was probably futile. She was just a small woman – an injured one at that – and she would soon be chased by men trained to catch their prey their entire lives. It still didn't stop her from trying. She did her best to ignore the burning pain in her leg caused by Arthur's arrow as she ran away, blood rushing through her ears.

"Leave her alone!" she heard Merlin's shout carry across the street and felt tears of gratitude spring to her eyes. Bless him, for always trying to save her.

Heavy footsteps were hot on her heels and she realised her capture was imminent. Her legs were already getting too weary to carry her any further and her lungs were burning as though someone has filled them with hot oil.

A scream escaped her lips as she felt herself being throttled to the ground by a much heavier body. Its weight lifted a second later but Gwen remained on the ground, too weak to get up and knowing there was no chance of escape. Soon, gruff hands caught her arms and she felt herself being pulled up, coming face to face with the man she now thoroughly despised.

"Well, what do have here?" Agravaine taunted, his cold smile making Gwen's blood boil with rage. She would claw his eyes out with her bare hands if she only had the strength.

"I never took you for a fool, Guinevere," he went on, tightening the hold he had on her arm but she refused to let the pain it caused show on her face. "Nor did I think you wished to die."

Gwen stiffened immediately at the words, knowing perfectly well what he was alluding to. Her return to Camelot was upon pain of death…as sentenced by King Arthur himself. Still, she refused to speak and held her head high, meeting Agravaine's mocking eyes with a glare. He merely chuckled at her actions, motioning to the guards at his side to take hold of her as he turned to walk back to the castle, with Gwen dragged behind him.

* * *

Arthur was meeting with a few councilmen, only barely listening to what they had to say about how his upcoming union in marriage to Mithian would benefit Camelot. Truthfully, the thought of marrying the princess now made him sick to the stomach.

He thought he had moved on, had forgotten _her_. He even came to like Mithian and thought that perhaps, in time, he'd come to love her as well.

All these fragile illusions came crushing down the moment he found…_her_ ring in the forest. He was a fool to think he could love Mithian or make himself forget the love he'd lost. And now he'd apparently condemned himself to a life of misery.

He was still lost in his own thoughts when the doors of the council chamber opened abruptly. His uncle walked in, along with two guards holding…

He was on his feet in an instant, his eyes widened in shock as they landed on her. "Guinevere," he choked out almost inaudibly, not even noticing he was beginning to approach the party of four at the door.

She didn't speak and her eyes revealed nothing of the suffering she'd endured since her banishment but the rest of her body spoke plenty. The dress she wore was torn and dirty, the portions of visible skin covered in scrapes and bruises of different shades and severity. As he came closer still, he saw her arm flinch slightly as the guard's fingers dug into the tender flesh.

He immediately felt anger coursing through him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're hurting her!" he yelled at the startled men. "Release her now!"

The guards retracted their hands immediately and took a few steps back, scared of their King's wrath. Agravaine merely raised an eyebrow at his nephew's outburst.

"She was caught in the lower town, milord," he spoke after a couple of seconds of silence. "As I'm certain you remember, her return to Camelot was to be on pain of death."

After showing no signs of emotion from the moment she'd been caught, Gwen's temper suddenly flared and she turned her head to the side sharply to glare at the back of Agravaine's head. "You could at least _pretend_ to not enjoy the thought of my imminent death so much," she spat with an amount of disdain Arthur had never heard colour her words before.

His uncle turned to face her sharply, enraged by her insolence. He took a step in her direction as his hand rose to hit her but Arthur caught his wrist before it could reach its target. His eyes were ablaze with anger. "Don't you dare lay a hand on her," he warned, causing Agravaine's eyes to widen in disbelief.

"But sire, she has insulted - "

"_Do not_ touch her," Arthur cut through his uncle's words, pushing him away in the process. Although he was by no means pleased with this behaviour, Agravaine let it slide, knowing it would be foolish to go against Arthur at the moment; after all, he required he King's absolute trust to carry on the plans he'd concocted with Morgana.

"I apologise, milord," he said through gritted teeth, managing to get the words past his tongue by sheer power of will.

Arthur gave him one last reprimanding look before he addressed all the men in the room. "Leave us," he ordered in a tone that booked no room for argument. "All of you."

Slowly, every last man exited the chamber and the guards closed the heavy wooden doors behind them, leaving Arthur and Guinevere alone.

It took him some time to find his voice again. "What are you doing here, Guinevere?" he asked, his voice quiet.

She squared her shoulders unconsciously. "I have some information that might interest you," she spoke steadily, choosing to focus on the secrets she'd uncovered rather than the feelings his presence evoked. "I was going to relay my findings to Merlin alone but I was caught before I could escape."

Arthur's heart beat hollowly as he listened to her words. So many thoughts were coursing through his mind. Where had she been? How had she gotten hurt this way? And it pained him to hear that she trusted Merlin more than she trusted him, even though he should have expected it. He had banished her after all. "What is this information you speak about?" he asked quietly, disregarding his pained thoughts for a moment.

She took a deep breath before she looked over her shoulder warily, wondering just how soundproof those wooden doors were.

"Is there something wrong?" he queried as he observed her movements.

"I just don't wish to be overheard," she spoke with her eyes still trained on the heavy doors behind her.

"You can speak freely," he assured her but she was still wary, picturing Agravaine with his ear plastered against the door, listening intently from the other side of the barrier. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back to face Arthur and took a few steps forward.

"This is something I don't want your uncle to hear me say," she said in a hushed voice, almost a whisper and, if she hadn't shortened the distance between them, Arthur probably wouldn't have been able to hear her. "I suppose I should start at the beginning," she then proceeded with her tale, ignoring the shadow of hurt and longing she could clearly see in her beloved's eyes, "After I was…sent away from Camelot, I traveled a long time before I found a village and a family willing to take me in. I was quite happy helping with the pig stall to repay their charity," she recalled fondly before her expression sobered. "But the village was attacked no more than a few days ago by Helios."

The name piqued Arthur's interest. "Helios?" he cut in, his eyes widening. "I know of him."

He'd heard of the man many times before. While not considered a direct threat to Camelot, Helios was a violent, often cruel and volatile man, something any monarch should be wary of. And as he recalled all that he had heard about warlord, Arthur felt his chest tighten in unease and dread. Among the stories of Helios' thirst for blood, there had also been some that spoke of his dishonourable interest in beautiful women. If Helios had attacked the village Guinevere was staying in…Arthur dared not think about it. Still, he had to know.

He swallowed convulsively before speaking. "Did…did he hurt you?"

Gwen shook her head in reassurance. "Actually, I was probably the only one he _didn't_ hurt," she said, recalling the slaughtering of the villagers she'd grown fond of. "He took me to his hiding place; a cave deep into the woods beyond the Northern Borders…invited me to dine with him, even. Rest assured, I had no illusions about his intentions," she added when Arthur's brows furrowed in displeasure after her comment about being invited to dinner, "but his interest in me certainly kept me alive and - "

"How were you hurt then?" he pressed on, his guilt-ridden heart not giving him rest.

She sighed as her annoyance built. She was exhausted and hungry, dirtied and scared. Not to mention the injury to her leg was beginning to throb more than ever. Gwen surmised her earlier exertion as she ran had caused the wound to bleed again and it was starting to make the muscles in her thigh twitch rhythmically on their own accord. It took a great deal of effort for her to merely stand. And now, he was plaguing her with unnecessary questions; she almost wanted to shout that it was him that had hurt her – both mentally and physically – and show him what his arrow had done to her leg but she quelled the urge rapidly. She was many things, an adulteress being one of them, but she was not cruel of heart.

"Running through the woods while trying to evade Helios and your sister will do this to a person," she commented wryly, vaguely gesturing to her overall appearance.

"Morgana?" he let out in surprise, though the question was useless. He only had one sister.

She nodded. "She and Helios are working together. So, if you would let me finish my story, I will tell you all about it," she spoke the words with a hint of impatience and Arthur wisely fell mute, motioning for her to continue with her tale.

She took a deep breath before doing so. "As I was saying, Helios took me to the cave he was staying in and invited me to dine with him. Our meal was, however, cut short by Morgana. I excused myself and hid behind a rock, hoping to listen in on their conversation."

Arthur felt the corners of his lips pull into the smallest of smiles. Never let it be said that Guinevere wasn't as brave as she was wise.

"There was much said that I do not wish to repeat, for it is as unimportant as it is improper," Gwen went on, deciding to omit the thinly-veiled propositions that had passed between the witch and the warlord from her speech, "but what you need to know is this: Morgana has allied herself with Helios in order to take the throne of Camelot. They plan to attack soon."

Arthur's eyebrows shot upwards before his face relaxed once more. He wasn't all that surprised to hear about his darling half-sister's new plans to take over the kingdom but her plan was simply ludicrous. "Helios may have many men and is skilled with the sword but his army would still be no match for Camelot's," he voiced his opinion out loud. "Even with Morgana's help. The citadel is impenetrable from - "

"They have the plans for the siege tunnels," she cut through the words she had already heard from Merlin's mouth previously. When Arthur's eyes widened, she took another step closer and hushed her voice down even further than before. "You have suspected that there was a traitor in court for a long time and you were right, for he has given the plans to Morgana."

She pursed her lips and took a deep breath before finally revealing her most important discovery, although she assumed Arthur wouldn't believe her words. "It's your uncle."

As she had predicted, the utter disbelief on Arthur's face quickly turned to anger and she took a step back since she didn't wish to be too close to him once his foul mood bubbled to the surface. "_Excuse me_?"

"You heard me perfectly well," she responded, seemingly calm. On the inside though, she was screaming.

"I was giving you a chance to take your words back," he hissed, his command for a retraction of her claims clearly audible in his tone but she didn't flinch. She was a dead woman anyway and she would be damned if she spent her last moments on Earth as a cowering liar.

"I understand if you don't believe me," she spoke, holding her head just a little bit higher, "but I have told you nothing but the truth. If you choose to - "

"You expect me to believe that my uncle," he interjected furiously, "my own flesh and blood that I have known for years is a conniving traitor?"

"Morgana is your own flesh and blood as well," she countered, "And you knew her far better than your uncle. You grew up together."

His chest puffed with rage. He refused to believe his uncle was such a vile traitor. While Arthur may have had a moment of suspicion concerning his mother's brother, Agravaine was still the only family he had left in the world. Everyone else had either died or betrayed him and he could not bear to lose another family member. Besides, Guinevere herself had betrayed him too, hadn't she? Did she really expect him to believe the words of an adulteress over the ones of his own uncle? "How dare you accuse my uncle of treachery?" he let the anger fuel his words, "_You_ have betrayed me and you honestly believe I could take your words as the truth?"

Gwen stiffened, forcing herself to suppress the tears that threatened to flood her eyes. Yes, she had betrayed him…but she had never been anything but loyal to Camelot. When Uther had killed her father, she could have sought out revenge and turned on the Pendragons but she hadn't. When Morgana had taken over the throne, she was offered a place in the court; she could have pledged allegiance to the new Queen but she hadn't. She had always been loyal to the crown and yet Arthur treated her like she was some sort of volatile, disloyal traitor.

"I suppose I can't truly blame you for not believing me," she said after a while, meeting his gaze with a defiant one of her own, "but, while I may be many things, I am not a liar. I have brought this information to you because I thought you had to know. What you choose to do with it is entirely up to you."

He offered no response to her words and averted his eyes, fixating his gaze on no particular spot to his right. The silence grew long, weighing heavily on Gwen. Her thigh started shaking uncontrollably even more severely than before, making her bite her lip as she did her best not let her legs give out.

"I know that my return here is on pain of death," she finally broke through the stillness around them after a while, her voice quiet. "And I know you owe me nothing but…if you could grant me a quick death, it would be much appreciated," she managed to get the words past her tongue, making his eyes connect with hers again. She wouldn't presume to know what the look he gave her meant but, if she had to hazard a guess, she'd say his eyes seemed…pained.

"I still don't wish to see you dead, Guinevere," he whispered, inexplicably hurt by her words. She couldn't really believe he would ever take her life, could she? "That much hasn't changed."

At length, she nodded. "Then I'll be taking my leave," she said with finality, not wishing to spend a moment longer in Camelot. She turned and began walking away, trying to steady the violent tremors of the muscles in her leg. She fought the urge to limp with every step she took.

"Wait!" Arthur called suddenly and a second later, she felt his fingers curl gently around her forearm. She halted her movements but cast her eyes downwards in order to avoid meeting his gaze.

He seemed to hesitate before speaking. "You're tired, injured and your clothes are all but destroyed," he pointed out, "You should stay here until you are well enough to travel again and I'll have some of the maids provide you with new clothing."

She almost smiled at the note of caring and concern she heard in his voice. "That is very generous of you…_sire_," she emphasized the title, implicitly cautioning them both to remember their roles. "But I cannot stay any longer. I do not _wish_ to stay any longer."

His fingers slid away from her skin. "Then I won't stop you."

She nodded curtly and carried on with her departure, using much more force than she usually should have to open the heavy wooden doors. She barely made a few steps before the sounds of someone shouting furiously reached her ears.

"If any of you harm her, I will run you through before you can blink!"

"Tell Arthur that if he _dares_ sentence her to death, I'll wring his neck like a chicken's!"

Gwen's eyes widened as she saw her brother and Merlin yell furiously at the guards and Agravaine who were blocking their path at the hallway's end.

"Move out of my way before I forget myself and spill your insides," Elyan hissed with venom as Agravaine tried to shove him backwards.

"Elyan!" Gwen did the shouting this time. She was certainly grateful – and frankly, surprised – by her brother's protectiveness but he was being so foolish. Standing up to Agravaine would surely get him into all sorts of trouble…especially since Arthur apparently thought his precious uncle could do no wrong.

He was startled by the sound of her voice and the idea of drowning Agravaine in his own blood soon fled his mind as his eyes connected with his sister's. The other men had also been distracted by her admonishment, allowing both Elyan and Merlin to finally slip through the human barricade.

Elyan had his arms around her in less than a second. "Thank God," he muttered as her own arms slowly encircled his back. He may have abandoned her in her hour of need but he certainly seemed adamant to make up for it now. Besides, he was her brother; she loved him more than words could say.

She soon felt another pair of arms circling her from the back and recognised them as Merlin's. She couldn't help but chuckle as she was being squished by the two men.

Elyan pulled back, smiling. His expression soon grew somber though, as he noticed the state of her. "What happened to you, Gwen?" he whispered and she could clearly hear the regret and guilt in his voice. He blamed himself, she realised…for not protecting her when she needed it.

"It's…a long story," she replied evasively, giving him a pointed look. He understood its meaning; she didn't want to discuss it with so many wandering ears around.

He nodded. "Let's get you to Gauis, he can tend to your injuries and give you something that'll help you rest," he said before he looked past her at Arthur who was standing in the doorway, observing the scene in silence. "I trust that will be fine by you, sire."

Before Arthur could regain his wits, Gwen spoke up. "Actually, I won't be staying. The…_King_ has been gracious enough to let me leave with my life but I fear I cannot stay in Camelot a minute longer."

Merlin spun around sharply, glaring at Arthur. "You're denying her help?" he exclaimed, having misinterpreted Gwen's words.

"No, I - "

"Milord, this is outrageous!" Agravaine joined the shouting match as he realised Arthur had once again spared his beloved servant, coming to a stand in front of Arthur, right next to the fuming Merlin. "You cannot let her return go unpunished!"

"Do not even think about punishing her!" Elyan completed the yelling trio, leaving a shocked Gwen in his wake.

"The sentence was clear…"

"You stubborn clod pole, you can't even set your pride aside for…"

"You may be the King, but if my sister suffers any more than she already…"

"…she was to be executed if she ever stepped foot here again…"

"…helping a clearly injured…"

"…has at your hand, I will have your…"

"…and you cannot allow yourself to appear weak, especially not with…"

"…woman, not to mention friend to all of us, and that includes you…"

"…head, honour be damned!"

"…matters such as this!"

"…dollop-head!"

Everyone's outbursts came to a grandiose finish, leaving each man panting and red in the face. Arthur stood frozen, his eyes wide and shocked, not having a clue as to how to even begin to proceed.

"What's going on here?"

The mighty King gulped in what was most likely fear. He didn't dare glance over his shoulder but he knew the Princess Mithian was standing merely a couple of feet behind him.

Gwen's own posture changed as she caught glimpse of the newest arrival. She'd recognised the voice as soon as she'd heard it; it had been the same one she'd witnessed in the forest. As if to remind her of the unpleasant experience, her leg twitched painfully.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Princess," Arthur said with as much bravado as he could muster, even though his back was still turned to her.

"It didn't sound like nothing," Mithian countered, her voice serene but firm. "And if I am soon to be crowned Queen, then I believe matters such as this one definitely concern me."

She could not have picked a poorer choice of words. Everyone, including the inconspicuous guards, stilled as their eyes grew wide and their bodies went rigid in discomfort. None more so than Arthur's; he was a fearless warrior but, at the moment, he could not bring himself to look at Guinevere.

The latter was more hurt by the news than surprised, really. She'd guessed the reason for the other woman's presence at Arthur's side but she'd chosen not to dwell on it. Still, having her suspicions confirmed here and now cut through her heart like a dagger. She understood that her betrayal had annulled the love they'd shared, but had it really taken him so little time to replace her? After he had spent years determined to make _her_ his Queen?

Anyone of the men had yet to speak as Mithian shot them questioning looks, making Gwen sigh. Apparently, she was the one who had to break the silence. It was so typical, she thought. For all their boisterous speeches, men were still terrified of a woman's wrath.

"Milady," Gwen greeted politely, curtseying the best she could with the condition her leg was in, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am sorry we had to meet under such circumstances but I assure you, the King is right; you needn't trouble yourself with what has happened here."

Mithian looked surprised for a moment, before bowing her head in courtesy. "The pleasure of meeting you is all mine, milady."

Gwen had to chuckle at that one. "I'm not a lady."

"Oh…forgive me, I…I just assumed…"

"It's a common mistake," Merlin was the one to offer reassurance, fighting a smile all the while.

The comment caused another bout of uncomfortable silence, making Gwen sigh once more. "I will be leaving now," she announced and began her departure but felt suddenly dizzy as she spun on her heel too quickly. The momentary haze also made her lose the focus she had put into keeping her leg from collapsing and it shook with tremors before giving way, sending Gwen toppling to the ground.

Two pairs of arms caught her before she hit the cold stone and she soon felt herself pressed against Elyan's side, his hold on her keeping her upright. Merlin was there too, rubbing a hand down her arm and looking very concerned.

And Arthur wasn't far behind either. "What's wrong?" he asked hastily, his voice laced with panic as he stood in front of her, idly wondering if he could order Elyan to let him hold her instead.

Gwen sighed internally, accepting defeat. There was no way she could get out of this now. "My leg is badly injured," she admitted, hating that she had to do so. "It's been troubling me the most, though I believe the lack of food and sleep have contributed to the dizziness."

"I'll get you to Gaius," Elyan stated, "And don't even think about protesting."

She nodded meekly, figuring that any protests would have fallen on deaf ears anyway. Her brother started leading her away, with Merlin close behind.

Arthur began following them instinctively but Mithian's voice stopped his movements.

"Milord," she called out, her tone making it clear she demanded an explanation for the scene she had just witnessed.

Arthur's hurried stride faltered and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before facing Mithian. The conversation he was about to have with the Princess was probably one no man ever wanted to go through.

* * *

"How did you injure your leg?" Gauis asked, inspecting the wound with professional expertise. When Merlin and Elyan had come to his quarters with a stumbling Gwen with them, the elderly physician's heart had nearly given out from shock. He'd recovered quickly and had her placed in Merlin's bed – to the latter's adamant insistence and Gwen's multiple protests – before proceeding with his examination. He had tended to the less grave scrapes and bruises quickly before focusing his attention on the still healing, deep gash on her thigh.

She hesitated before responding, unwilling to tell them the truth. "I cut it open on a jagged rock," she lied, making Gaius raise his eyebrows.

"Do you honestly believe you can fool me, Gwen?" he asked softly and without reproach. "The edges of the wound are far too regular to be made by a rock. In fact, I have treated many wounds such as this one; unless I'm losing my sight, I believe this wound was made by an arrow."

Gwen inhaled sharply at the words. She was foolish to think she could deceive a man of Gaius' knowledge and experience.

Her reaction only served to confirm Gauis' assumption, making Elyan frown. "What happened, Gwen?" he asked, "And don't even think about lying."

Accepting that she was cornered, she told the three men everything. About how Morgana had chased her into the woods, turned her into a doe and steered her right on the path of Arthur's hunting party. She also told them of who had fired the arrow that had grazed her leg.

As she finished her story, the others – Merlin and Elyan in particular – looked extremely displeased.


	2. The Troubles of the Heart

**A/N: I apparently deleted a portion of the first chapter when I reposted the story. I always have been a genius. Anyway, I've included that part in this chapter, which I certainly hope you will like. The true action doesn't quite begin until the next update but this one was still necessary to set everything in place. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Arthur didn't even bother disguising his haste as he made his way through the castle, eager to reach Gaius' quarters as soon as possible. His conversation with Mithian had gone better than he had expected, although he was certain the princess was upset by his words. She had only seemed to soften once he'd told her how much Guinevere meant to him, saying she could only hope a man could love her that way one day.

She'd accepted the terms of the offer he'd made her after a short deliberation, agreeing that allowing her kingdom to claim the disputed lands was an acceptable consolation price for being sent away after being promised marriage. Still, she did not mask her disapproval of his actions and had even commented about the way he had treated Guinevere. She believed that a man who truly loved a woman would not send her to fend for herself in unfamiliar lands. He'd known as much himself; Guinevere had been seriously hurt since he'd banished her and it was all his fault.

"How is she?" he asked once he'd reached his destination. Gaius was the only one in the room so Arthur assumed Guinevere had been placed in Merlin's separate one.

"She is resting," the older man replied neutrally, "I gave her a draught that will give her the sleep she needs."

"What about the injury to her leg?" Arthur inquired further since the physician's answer had given him little reassurance. "She said it was troubling her greatly."

Gaius seemed to hesitate before responding, giving the young King a look he couldn't quite decipher. "It became infected," he responded after a long pause, "She did her best to prevent the infection, of course, cleaning the wound with fresh water and applying certain herbs to it but I'm afraid the woods are an environment far too contaminated to allow proper disinfection."

Arthur expected him to continue but Gaius gave no other information away, making the King grow impatient. He wanted to know if she would be alright, how she had gotten the injury, where she had been, if she thought of him, if she loved him still -

Maybe he was getting a bit ahead of himself.

He cleared his throat. "And?" he prompted, making sure it sounded like an order.

Gaius looked put off by the tone but relented nonetheless. "If she gets the care and rest she needs, she will make a full recovery."

A sigh of relief escaped Arthur's lips but he still wasn't fully satisfied with the answers he was receiving. "What caused the injury?"

"An arrow," Gaius replied simply before giving Arthur a sharp look. "I'm assuming you're going to order me to tell you all about that as well."

Arthur felt sheepish at the physician's harsh tone but as long as long he got the answers he needed, he couldn't quite bring himself to care if he offended the man who he considered a second father.

Gaius nodded, having interpreted Arthur's silence correctly. "How much has she told you about her time away from Camelot?"

"Not much."

"Well, then I suppose I will be filling in some of the blanks. She was chased through the woods by Morgana."

"Yes, I know about that."

"Do you also know Morgana turned her into a doe and left her in the path of a hunting party? _Your_ hunting party to be more precise?"

Arthur suddenly felt cold chills creep up his spine. They had come across a doe – a beauty, as Sir Leon had said – during their hunting trip and he had…he had almost…

"What are you saying, Gaius?" he asked in a quiet, weak voice that held none of its previous authoritative edge. It seemed to make the other man soften.

"I think you know perfectly well what I'm saying, sire," he replied, reverting back to the caring father figure he had always been. "But it wasn't your fault, Arthur. You couldn't have known it was her."

The words did little to alleviate Arthur's guilt. "I need to see her," he mumbled, almost to himself.

"I'd happy to let you do so but I'm afraid you'll have to get past Merlin if you wish to spend time with her. He's with her now."

Arthur crossed the threshold of Merlin's room slowly and carefully. Guinevere was resting on the bed and sleeping soundly while Merlin had pulled up a chair to her bedside, standing guard over her as she slept.

"May I stay with her for a while?" Arthur asked for his servant's permission, something he never thought he'd find himself doing.

Merlin's reply was short and curt. "No."

Arthur inhaled sharply, closing his eyes to chase away the oncoming, unwelcomed tears. "Please," he whispered, feeling like he was going to die if he couldn't hold her hand for just a moment.

The desperation and plea in his voice seemed to have an impact on Merlin because his shoulders slumped and he rose from the chair. "Don't make it too long," was all he said as he bypassed Arthur and closed the door on his way out.

Now alone, Arthur occupied the vacated seat, hesitating before he intertwined his fingers with Guinevere's. Another sharp breath left his lungs at the touch and he let his thumb glide over the now dry and roughened skin. While her hands had never been as soft as a noblewoman's, they'd never been this damaged either. It was another thing he had caused.

His other hand made its way to her face, his knuckles caressing her forehead and cheeks gently. Before he could question his actions, his nose rubbed against hers softly and his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth.

"I'm sorry," he murmured brokenly as he leaned his forehead against her temple, his tears now flowing freely. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Arthur had stayed by Gwen's side as long as he could the previous day, until Elyan had politely but firmly asked him to leave.

It was now the morning of a new day and Arthur was once again making his way to Gaius' quarters, hoping to spend a few more moments with Guinevere before he had to see the Princess Mithian off. The latter had been extremely gracious about the turn of events, assuring Arthur that her parents, the King and Queen of Nemeth, would harbour no ill will toward him.

He assumed Guinevere would still be asleep and he only planned to leave the flowers he had picked up for her on the table. He hadn't counted on her being awake when he stepped into the room without knocking.

She raised an eyebrow at both his lack of manners and the expression of shock on his face as she leaned against the pillows.

He looked like a fish out of water, his mouth parted slightly as he stood frozen in the doorway.

"Unless you expected to find Merlin here, I assume those are for me," she spoke first, since he seemed unable to find his voice.

He blinked, then laughed nervously before nodding. "They are for you indeed," he said as he took a few steps further into the room, handing her the flowers a little awkwardly.

"Did you pick these by the side of a road too?"

"These are from the gardens actually," he informed her, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile. "I don't imagine the court gardener will be happy when he finds out, though."

She smiled at that, already picturing the fury on the aging man's face when the discovery of the desecration is made. "I assume this" – she gestured to the flowers in her hands – "means I'm in for an apology this time too."

"You have always been too clever," he remarked and took a seat on the empty chair once she had motioned for him to sit down.

He took a deep breath before speaking again, his eyes locked on his hands. "Guinevere, I owe you many apologies."

She smiled sadly. "You owe me nothing, Arthur," she said, "I have what I deserve for betraying you."

He inhaled sharply at the reminder of one of the worst nights of his life. "Perhaps. But I never wished to see you hurt, Guinevere," he told her with sincerity, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment before averting his gaze once again. "I never could - and still cannot - bear the thought of any harm coming to you, especially by my hand."

She sighed. "Which one of them told you?" she demanded, knowing from his words and tone that he had become aware of her gravest injury's origin.

He chuckled quietly at the demand. She was too clever, indeed. "It doesn't matter who told me. The point is, I…you have to believe me when I say I would never - "

"I know," she cut through his speech, making him finally look up into her eyes. She saw the guilt shine clearly in his blue ones and knew she had to appease it. "You couldn't have known that doe was me. Morgana is the only one to blame for what's happened."

"Morgana wouldn't have gotten the chance to harm you if I hadn't…banished you," he pointed out, faltering slightly at the sentence's end.

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe. But Morgana seems determined to end my life, one way or another. I doubt I'd be any safer in Camelot than I was in the woods. I still don't know what I've done to make her hate me so much but the fact remains that she wants my head on a platter."

"Don't say such things," he reprimanded, shutting his eyes as a very unsettling image of Morgana carrying Guinevere's head – complete with a red apple jammed between her teeth - on a silver platter floated through his mind.

"It's the truth," she countered, shrugging again.

"Still, I can offer you protection here," he didn't relent, moistening his lips before proceeding. "And that is exactly what I will do. Your banishment is now lifted and you are welcome to stay in Camelot."

Her eyes widened at his words. "I…I don't quite know what to say."

He tilted his head from one side to the other slightly. "I was hoping you'd agree to stay."

"Your offer is very kind, Arthur," she said slowly, trying to find the right words, "but I've already told you; I do not wish to stay in Camelot."

"Guinevere, you must see how - "

"I cannot stay," she interrupted, "I just…can't. The memories are too painful for me to live with and…I can't simply stand by the side and watch you build a new life with the princess. Not after everything."

"I won't marry Mithian," he surprised her again, "She will be returning to Nemeth in a few hours."

"You…are sending her away?"

He was the one to shrug this time. "I can't marry someone whom I do not love," he said simply, giving her a pointed look, one that she knew all too well. It had been directed at her many times and it never failed to make her heart beat faster, for it made her feel like she was the brightest star in his sky. Yes, that same look had made her give into him more times than she could count, made her disregard her own common sense and believe in the possibility of a shared future. She had given in every time but it had brought her nothing but pain and disappointment. She knew he loved her; that much was clear. Still, every time she thought they had defeated whatever new obstacles had come between them, her hopes had been dashed…and she refused to let her heart be stomped on in the same manner again.

She chose her next words carefully. "You know as well as I do that sometimes, love simply isn't enough. Like it wasn't for us."

He frowned heavily, not liking the direction their conversation had taken. She barrelled on before he got a chance to speak. "I won't be as bold as to presume you have forgiven me for my sins or that you desire to marry me again but if that is in fact your intention, I'm sorry to say it's not something I wish for any longer."

Her refusal felt like a kick in the gut, making a lump of tightly coiled emotion rise in his throat. He supposed he couldn't blame her for her change of heart; a lesser woman would feel nothing but hatred for him after everything. Still, he couldn't help feeling hurt and as it was often the case, such hurt went hand-in-hand with blinding anger.

"You certainly _are_ too bold in your presumptions," he said coldly, wishing to hurt her back. "Wanting to make you my wife was the biggest mistake I have ever made and one I will not repeat again. I was only offering you shelter and protection but if you choose to refuse it, I will not try to make you stay."

She sighed at his harsh tone. Perhaps she should have threaded more carefully. "I am not refusing because my feelings for you have faded," she clarified, her voice low, "Quite the opposite, actually. Whatever you may think, I have never loved another man the way I…still love you. But my feelings can't change a simple truth: I can never be your Queen and it's time we stopped pretending otherwise."

He averted his gaze from hers once more, trying to reign in on his growing temper. Who did she think she was? He was offering her what no other King had ever done; he'd been merciful and hadn't executed her for her adultery, he was willing to forgive her – even though he refused to admit it out loud to her – for her betrayal all because he loved her more than Camelot itself. And yet, she refused. Her audacity was simply infuriating.

"You may stay here until you recover," he said through gritted teeth as he rose from his chair. "What you choose to do afterwards is none of my concern."

"Arthur," she called after him but he had already shut the door on his way out.

* * *

Merlin found her crying silently some time later. "What has he done this time?" he asked bluntly, knowing there was only once certain prat who could cause her to weep in this manner.

She laughed breathlessly through her tears. "Nothing," she said truthfully, "My hurt is of my doing alone."

Merlin shook his head adamantly. "That's not true," he objected as he took a place on the bed next to her feet, covering her hand with a comforting one of his own.

"It is," she maintained stubbornly, "I am the one who betrayed him and I can blame no one else for my foolishness. I am also the one who let myself believe we could ever be and allowed my heart to love him. And I am the one who has just refused his hospitality; I _am_ the only one to blame, Merlin."

The dark-haired warlock was silent for a moment, almost blurting out that her betrayal was brought on by Morgana. Still, she had been the one to kiss Lancelot and he didn't want to trouble her with the knowledge of what the witch had done to their dearest friend, the way she had usurped his spirit for her own selfish purposes.

"Arthur had his hand in your sufferings too," Merlin maintained just as stubbornly, "Don't paint him as a saint Gwen, because he isn't one."

She almost smiled. "You seem more upset with him than I am."

Her friend shrugged. "You're too forgiving; someone has to make up for it."

Her reply was cut short by a soft knock to the door. She was wary as she granted the visitor entrance in a small voice, fearing it was Arthur again. To her utter shock, it was the Princess Mithian.

"Milady!" both Gwen and Merlin exclaimed as the latter rose to his feet clumsily and bowed his head with haste. Gwen bowed her head as well.

"You'll forgive me for not greeting you properly, milady," Gwen apologised, "but I'm afraid my leg does not allow me to do so."

Mithian waved her hand dismissively. "It's hardly something that requires forgiveness," she said lightly, "Merlin, could you give us a moment? I would like to speak to Guinevere in private."

Merlin looked torn, unwilling to leave his friend alone with the woman who had every reason to resent her. Still, he couldn't exactly refuse the request so he inclined his head in submission before making his exit. He lingered in the adjacent room though, ready to intervene if the situation required it.

Gwen didn't quite know what to say or do, silent as she waited for the other woman to speak. Her apprehension must have shown on her face because Mithian chuckled lightly.

"You needn't worry, Guinevere; I wish you no harm," the Princess reassured, "I merely wanted to meet the serving girl who has trumped a princess."

"Milady, I - "

Mithian raised a hand to halt her speech. "Like I said, I wish you no harm nor do I resent you in any way. I was merely curious. May I sit?"

Gwen nodded emphatically, her eyes still wide as they tracked Mithian's graceful movements.

"As I'm sure you know, Arthur has broken off our engagement," Mithian spoke again, "I will be returning to Nemeth shortly."

"I am sorry about that, milady."

"There is no need to apologise. Arthur has assured me you had no hand in his decision and I am inclined to believe it, especially after what I have just witnessed on my way here."

She chuckled as Gwen's brows drew together in confusion. "I saw the King walking through the hallway, not paying attention to anything around him," she began to explain, "while muttering something about 'ungrateful, heartless women' and 'she can go ahead and get herself eaten by wildren for all I care'."

Gwen cringed as her eyes closed shut in mortification. "I am once again sorry, milady…you never needed to hear that."

"Again, you needn't apologise. But his angered words do make me think that you've denied his advances…"

"I have denied his offer to let me stay in Camelot and pardon my crime," Gwen clarified, finding it unsettling to discuss this subject with the woman who had almost become Arthur's bride. "I am quite sure that he also meant for us to be together once more, but I have made it clear it was not something I wanted."

Mithian pursed her lips. "That was certainly very…_bold_ of you, if I may say so. No other King would have ever done what he was willing to do for you."

"I know that," Gwen assured her, wanting to make it clear that she was in no way ungrateful, "but for all the love we shared, Arthur and I only ended up hurting each other. I simply cannot risk my heart going through something like that again."

The Princess nodded in understanding. "So, you will not be staying in Camelot?"

"I'm afraid not. I will be leaving as soon as I am well enough to travel."

"And do you know where you will go?"

"Not yet."

"Well, since you don't have any apparent destination in mind, I'd like to make you a proposal."

"A proposal, milady?"

"Yes. I am asking you to come to Nemeth and be my personal handmaiden," Mithian said calmly, making Gwen lose all notion of decorum and letting her mouth drop wide open.

Mithian couldn't quite contain her laughter. "I see I have surprised you."

"Indeed, milady," Gwen responded numbly.

"Then perhaps, I can explain myself further. I have been meaning to replace my handmaiden for quite some time now…she is a dear but I simply cannot stand the way she agrees with every word that leaves my mouth. I need someone who won't be afraid to tell me if I'm wrong…and you seem like exactly the kind of person who possesses that kind of courage. If you are able to stand up to the King of Camelot, then it should be quite easy for you to do the same to me."

The explanation only served to shock Gwen even more. "I…I…I'm…I mean, I…"

"Unless of course, you do not wish to be a handmaiden once more," Mithian added quickly, interpreting Gwen's stumbling words as a sign of refusal. "I understand you were once the personal servant to the Lady Morgana."

"I was," Gwen finally found her voice, "and I am not ashamed of it. And I certainly appreciate your offer milady, but there must be more suitable choices than myself."

"Not really, no. All the maids I have interviewed in Nemeth haven't met the standards I had set up for them…you, on the other hand…"

"You are very kind milady, but don't you think it would be…_awkward_ for me to work for you?"

"Not necessarily," Mithian dismissed Gwen's worries. "As I have said, I have no ill feelings towards you and believe you have none towards me either."

"I have no reason to dislike you," Gwen said with a small smile.

"So, will you accept my offer then?"

Gwen fell silent for a few moments, deliberating. The Princess' proposal was very tempting and working as a maid in a castle would certainly be preferable to wandering through various villages again, asking for mercy and pity. She also quite liked Mithian; in many ways, she reminded her of her old mistress…before she had betrayed them all, that is. She was strong, opinionated and asked to be treated as an intelligent and capable woman instead of some sort of delicate flower. Gwen could definitely see the two of them getting along.

At length, she nodded. "I will."

Mithian grinned genuinely at her words. "I am extremely pleased to hear that. When should I expect your arrival?"

"The physician has told me that I am to stay here for another week at least. It shouldn't take me more than two to arrive to Nemeth, though."

"Then I shalll be expecting you in two weeks' time," Mithian concluded cheerfully as she rose from her seat and headed for the door. "Safe travels, Guinevere."

"My friends call me Gwen, milady."

Mithian nodded, her smile growing wider. "And mine do not address me quite so formally."

Gwen mirrored her smile. "As you wish…_Mithian_."

* * *

Arthur's posture was stiff and stoic as he stood on the palace's front steps, waiting to see Mithian off. The conversation he'd had with Guinevere had left him in a very foul mood; he simply couldn't understand the workings of her mind. Her presumptions, however bold, were quite accurate. He was willing to forget everything that had happened on the night before their doomed wedding, if only she promised she would never look at another man again. In return, he would ask her forgiveness for the way he had put her in danger because of his selfish, troubled heart. And yet, she adamantly refused…she was going to be the death of him, that much was certain.

Mithian came down the stairs and stood before him, barely managing to control her smile at the sight of his furious pout.

"Milord," she began calmly, "I once again assure you that I leave in peace and that my kingdom will seek no retribution against yours."

He kissed her outstretched hand politely. "And I once again thank you for your kindness, Princess."

"It was for the best," she stated with certainty, "I never thought someone of our standing could aspire to marry for love; you've made me believe otherwise."

He chuckled bitterly. "I wouldn't be so sure that following my example is a wise decision, milady."

"Give her time, Arthur," she advised sagely, making his eyebrows lift in surprise. "The way you spoke of her…that kind of love can't simply die away. But she has suffered much and her heart is troubled; she needs to heal."

His eyes narrowed during the last portion of Mithian's speech. "You speak as if you know her mind."

"Perhaps not as well as you but I do hope to remedy that. I have offered her a job as my handmaiden," she added when Arthur's brows rose in questioning. "And she has accepted."

Now he looked positively bewildered. "You…I…what?"

She nodded serenely. "I expect her to arrive to Nemeth in no more than a couple of weeks. Of course, if her _circumstances_ change in the meantime, then I won't object. If they do not, _you_ are still welcome to visit my kingdom at any time."

He was stunned speechless for a moment. Was Mithian actually trying to bring him and Guinevere back together? Surely not…still, there was a certain glint in her eye Arthur had seen before in Merlin, when his servant was trying to play matchmaker.

He recollected himself rapidly. "I…will take your invitation into consideration."

"I would certainly hope so. Farewell, Arthur."

"Farewell, Princess."

* * *

"You're going to Nemeth?"

Gwen nearly flew off the bed as the door opened abruptly, revealing a red-faced Arthur whose crown was tipped at an odd angle.

She brought a hand to her thundering heart. "I know you are the King, but would it be too much for you to _knock_?"

"I can't believe you," he went on, completely ignoring her words, "You are going to go back to being a servant when you could stay here and be Queen!"

Both froze at his declaration, one Arthur obviously hadn't meant to speak aloud. His eyes jerked from one side to the other awkwardly. "You didn't hear me say that."

She wisely obliged. "The Princess offered me a good job in a great kingdom; it would be foolish of me to refuse."

"You could have the same here if you so desired," he said, hating that he sounded like he was begging. He was the King of Camelot; he _did not_ beg.

"I've already told you, I can't stay in Camelot."

"Fine!" he snapped and spun on his heel, entangling himself in his red cloak and stumbling ungracefully. Gwen did her best not to laugh.

He straightened after a short battle with his clothing and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He reappeared a second later. "The Knights want to see you," he informed her before rattling the worn piece of wood as he closed the door once more.

It opened again almost immediately. "And the maids…and the cook…and the blacksmith…the whole of bloody Camelot wants to see you!" he yelled furiously before making his final exit, almost making the door fall off its hinges and leaving a speechless Gwen in his wake.


	3. The Parting of Lovers

**A/N: First of all, I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews and all the guest reviewers in particular, since the site doesn't allow to answer you each personally. All the lovely comments make me one very happy newbie Merlin writer and I really hope you enjoy this chapter as well :)**

* * *

A few days passed and Guinevere was healing much faster than anticipated, much to Arthur's dismay. He was still angry with her and accepted that she would never be his Queen and yet, he still wanted her to stay close by. The contradicting emotions were giving him a headache.

Gwen was also quite surprised by her rapid recovery. What she didn't know was that Merlin had used magic to quicken the healing process, much to Gaius' disapproval once the physician found out about it. Still, Merlin refused to feel bad about it; Gwen wanted to leave as soon as possible and he was making her wishes come true. Besides, the royal prat needed to be taught a lesson.

Finally, five days after her arrival to Camelot, Gwen was fully recovered and in perfect condition to travel. Arthur brooded for the length of that day while Gwaine insisted on a huge festivity being thrown before Princess Esmeralda's departure.

It could not be an official feast but Gwaine didn't let the denied access to the banquet hall deter him; he hosted the celebration in Gaius' quarters instead, making the latter cringe and flinch in horror every time one of his precious vials was sent toppling to the ground by the overly merry Knights, maids and other commoners.

Everyone Gwen had considered to be her friend in Camelot had shown up, expressing their support and wishing her a safe passage to Nemeth. Well, everyone but Arthur. He hadn't come to join the celebration; not that she had expected him to. The last words they had traded hadn't exactly been cordial.

Gwen still refused to leave Camelot on such a sour note. She wanted to make peace with Arthur before she left and wish him all the best.

She slipped out of Gaius' chambers, wandering around the castle until she found Arthur in one of the corridors, gazing aimlessly through a window.

"You should come by the party," she said softly and noticed his shoulders stiffen as he heard her voice. "Gwaine is singing."

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "You would subject me to such torture?"

"He actually has quite the way with words…he's making the songs up as he goes."

"That does sound like Gwaine."

She smiled slightly before taking a few steps closer to him. "I know you are upset with my decision," she began carefully, biting back a sigh as his body went even more rigid than before, "but I don't wish for us to part on bad terms."

"It's a little late for that, Guinevere," he said, his voice almost a whisper and tears began to moisten her eyes at his sad, resigned tone.

"I need you to understand why I can't stay, Arthur," she stressed, cursing his stubbornness. "I…I've waited to be your wife _for years_ and nothing would have made me happier but…I fear there is no way for us to recover what we've lost when I betrayed you. No matter what you say, I know you will never be able to trust me as you did before. And I don't want to drag either of us through that kind of marriage."

His breath was coming out in sharp exhales by the time she had finished her speech, his hands balling into fists against his forearms. "Was it worth it?" he asked suddenly, making her frown.

"Was what worth it?"

He sighed deeply before finally tearing his eyes away from the window and focusing them on her red-rimmed ones. "I would have loved and cherished you like no other, Guinevere," he said desolately, making her throat constrict as a sob escaped her lips, "I would have… found a way to give you the moon if you asked me to...so, was it worth it? Forsaking all of that for a few moments with…_him_?"

Neither of them had mentioned Lancelot's name since that fateful night; not in each other's presence at least. Gwen had asked her brother what had become of Lancelot after her banishment shortly after waking up. Elyan had grown solemn at the question and quietly told her that the Knight had taken his own life, undoubtedly unable to handle the burden of his betrayal. Gwen had then asked her brother to leave her so she could mourn Lancelot's loss in private.

Her breathing grew unsteady as she fought to keep her composure, failing in her task quite miserably. "No, it was not," she managed to say, her lip quivering as she uttered the words, "I…I still don't know what came over me that night…but my moment of foolhardiness was certainly not worth all I have lost."

He felt his own eyes begin to sting at her heartfelt confession, suddenly finding the chipped patterns in the window's pane absolutely captivating. It took him a while to find the strength to speak. "Perhaps you are right," he said softly, "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to trust you the way I used to but…I still want you by my side, even if you no longer share these dreams of mine."

She refused to be swayed by his words. She had made her decision and it was final. "Your feelings will fade with time."

"I doubt that will ever happen."

She had no way to counter that so she decided a change of topic was in order. "Have you considered the information I brought to you when I arrived?" she asked after a minute of heavy silence. She was actually quite curious as to how he had handled the knowledge; she hoped he had at least taken some of her words to heart.

His head bobbed up and down slowly and she heard him sniffle quietly before speaking. "I've ordered Sir Leon to block the siege tunnels. If anyone tries to enter them, they'll be walking into a trap."

She smiled through her tears. "Thank you for believing me."

"I should be thanking you. You risked a great deal coming back to tell me about this; you wouldn't have done that if it wasn't important."

She nodded before she decided to venture into another line of questioning, though she suspected it would worsen his mood even further. "Have you told your uncle about what you've had Leon do?"

She expected him to yell at her like he had when she'd accused Agravaine of treason, but all he did was purse his lips in frustration. "Not yet."

"Don't tell him," she said hastily, making him arch an inquisitive eyebrow. "I know you don't believe what I've told you about him and let's assume, for argument's sake, that I misheard what Morgana said…there is still a traitor in Camelot. The more people know about the blockage of the tunnels, the more likely it is for the traitor to hear about it and inform Helios and Morgana. If you only entrust the knowledge to Leon and other Knights whose loyalty could never be questioned, you can lure Morgana into a trap."

Arthur's lips curved into a smile at her impassioned speech. She was so wise, his darling Guinevere. She would have made a marvellous Queen.

"I suppose my uncle doesn't need to know _everything_," he conceded after a while, making her breathe a sigh of relief.

"That is the sensible thing to do. Blind trust is not a wise concept to live by."

"You've certainly taught me that."

She flinched at the harsh edge that had crept back into his voice. "It is precisely _because_ I too have violated your trust that you should heed my advice. Don't let the bond of family blind you to your uncle's true colours; both you and your father made that same mistake with Morgana and look at what she's done now."

He shook his head but she had managed to plant the seed of doubt in his mind and he knew it would not give him rest until he had solid proof of Agravaine's innocence…or guilt.

Silence engulfed them once again and Gwen figured this was probably as good a time as any to say goodbye. "I should return to the party," she said quietly, "Everyone's probably wondering where I am. I'm not sure when _or if_ we'll see each other again but…I wish you nothing but happiness Arthur, even if I cannot share it with you."

Before she could fully comprehend what she was doing, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and rose to her tiptoes before brushing her lips against his cheek. He seemed startled by her actions, his shinning blue eyes meeting hers as their faces hovered agonisingly close to each other.

"Goodbye, Arthur," she whispered sadly before moving away quickly and walking down the corridor, wiping the tears that had escaped her with hasty strokes of her fingertips.

Arthur remained motionless in the darkness, unable to bring himself to bid his own goodbyes.

* * *

Gaius' chambers remained the centre of loud singing, occasional dancing and generous mead pouring well into the night, until the physician asked them all to leave. They all needed their rest, Gwen especially since she had quite a distance to cover the following morning.

They all bid her farewell, saying they wished to see her again soon. She received warm hugs from all the Knights – and even shrieked when Percival made her feet leave the ground in his zealousness – and couldn't help the tears that clouded her vision as her brother wound his arms around her tightly, promising to never abandon her again.

After all the guests had left, Gaius suggested she got some sleep. She scoffed at the idea and instead spent the few hours preceding daybreak talking to both the physician and Merlin.

As much as she wished to freeze the moment forever, time was beyond her control and the sun broke through the darkness sooner than she would have liked, forcing her to pack some food and water before undertaking the journey to Nemeth.

She planned to travel by foot but a boy working in the stables stopped her in the courtyard, dragging a horse with him and informing her that the King had given it to her as means of transportation. She thanked the boy but refused to take over the mare's reigns, stating such generosity was unnecessary.

Still, the boy persisted, growing more scared with each phrase of refusal that left her mouth and ended up chasing her in circles across the entire square in a scene that both shocked and amused many, begging her to just take the horse.

She finally relented, realising Arthur had probably threatened the boy with punishment if he didn't get her to take the horse. She had a very colourful message for the King too, one the boy dared not repeat to his sovereign afterwards.

She mounted the animal reluctantly, securing her supplies and embarking on her journey, unaware of Arthur's watchful eyes tracking her movements until she disappeared out of sight.

"I didn't expect to find you awake," Merlin commented as he entered the King's chambers, making Arthur sigh.

"Just do your job and stop pestering me, will you?" he snapped but Merlin didn't seem to mind.

"Of course, sire," Merlin replied dryly, "Shall I fetch your breakfast?"

"I'm not particularly hungry this morning."

"Make your bed?"

"Haven't slept in it."

"Polish your armour?"

"You did that yesterday."

"Help you dress?"

"I'm already dressed."

Merlin threw his hands up in exasperation. "What do you want me to do, then?"

Arthur sighed again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Just…just leave me."

"As you wish, sire."

The warlock made his exit, making sure to shut the door behind him. He knew what had brought upon Arthur's mood and he might have tried to cheer him up under different circumstances but he was far too tired to think about anything else than getting some wonderful, joyous sleep.

It was some hours later that Arthur finally left the confinement of his chambers and headed to the training fields, hoping some hard sparring would help clear his mind. Unfortunately for him, none of his Knights were in any condition to put up a fight due to the previous night's celebrations. Arthur tried to keep them on track and focused for the longest time but ultimately had to admit defeat when Gwaine fell asleep in the middle of a sparring session, ending up face-first in a puddle of mud and staying there. No one really bothered to rouse him.

Arthur threw his sword in irritation, annoyed by his Knights' irresponsible behaviour. "Nothing is more important than your duty to Camelot! Is that understood?" he yelled at the gathered men, who all nodded their heads in submission, swaying on their feet all the while.

Arthur growled as he stomped back the castle, aggravated because the one opportunity he'd had to forget his misery had been wasted.

"Sire," Sir Leon called out as he fell into step with the King, "I apologise for the men's behaviour on the field today. I should not have let them help themselves to the mead so generously last night."

Arthur knew Leon wasn't to blame but that didn't stop him from lashing out. "You're right, Sir Leon. As Captain of the Guards, you are as responsible for my men as I am."

Leon nodded loyally. "I know, sire. I am sorry."

Arthur didn't respond for a while and Leon was about to excuse himself and let the King have some privacy when the other man spoke again. "Are the siege tunnels fully secured?"

"They are, milord. As per your request, I only had Percival assist me in blocking the passageways. I can assure you neither of us has breathed a word about it to anyone, sire."

"Thank you, Leon. Your efforts are greatly appreciated. There is something else I wish to ask you, though."

"Anything, milord."

"It concerns my uncle," Arthur began delicately, "Have you had any reason to suspect him of…treason since he has arrived to Camelot?"

The question made Leon freeze in his movements, causing Arthur to do the same as he noticed the Knight was no longer at his side. He turned to face the other man. "Well?" he prompted, apparently oblivious to Leon's discomfort.

"Sire, I don't believe it's my place to say anything about - "

"I have asked you a question, Leon. As your King, I demand you answer me."

Leon squared his shoulders at the tone, clearing his throat before proceeding. "If that is your command milord, then I will give you an answer. I have not had any _strong_ reason to suspect Lord Agravaine of any wrongdoings…however, I…well, if I may say so, sire…"

"Speak your mind, Leon," Arthur ordered, his eyes narrowing at the man's hesitance. Had he noticed something amiss as well?

"Please understand that this is simply my opinion and that I could be mistaken," Leon assured hastily before taking a deep breath. "While I do not have any reason to believe your uncle is…_a traitor,_ I do not think he has your best interests at heart. You know as well as I that when the Dorocha attacked, he closed the gates to the people seeking shelter. If it had not been for…" Leon hesitated there, unsure if bringing up Gwen's name would be wise at the moment, "…if it had not been for the persistence of a _loyal friend_, many would have perished. His advice also almost lead to a war with Caerleon, not to mention that Gaius, who has served both you and your father with nothing but care, was painted a traitor because of your uncle's insistence. And since I may already speak freely, I don't believe his counsel helps build the kind of kingdom you wish to rule; I understand that perhaps he's a believer of ruling with a strong hand but I also know that _is not_ the kind of ruler you aspire to be."

By the time Leon had finished his speech, Arthur was positively shocked. During all the years he had known the man, he had never heard him protest against anything or anyone with this kind of fervour, always politely complying with both his and his father's requests even if those ended up causing more harm than good. If Leon spoke of his uncle in this manner, he dared not think about the kind of response he would get from some of the other Knights…like Gwaine, for instance. He could just imagine the answer the outspoken Knight would provide him with.

Leon noticed the King's flabbergasted expression and his shoulders slumped. "I apologise if I have spoken out of turn, milord. I think the lack of sleep has hindered my ability to think before speaking."

Arthur had a few false starts before he managed to find his voice. "Don't apologise, Sir Leon. I have asked you to speak your mind and you have done so."

The Knight smiled meekly in response, still surprised by his own boldness. He never should have let Gwaine pour him that third helping of mead…

"Have you seen my uncle today?" Arthur queried after a moment's silence, making Leon straighten his posture once more.

"I saw him ride out as I was returning from the training fields, sire."

"Ride out? He hasn't told me of any business he has to attend to."

"He usually doesn't."

"Meaning?"

"Sire, you must have noticed his habit of riding out alone quite often, sometimes under the cover of darkness…"

Arthur frowned again. Was he really the only one who hadn't questioned his uncle's behaviour? It certainly seemed that _everyone_ else found it odd, if not suspicious.

"Have the stables prepare me a horse," Arthur ordered, "I'll follow him."

"Would you like me to come with you, sire?"

The offer made Arthur smirk. "No offense Leon, but I fear your inebriated state will compromise your ability to be stealth; an imperative in a mission such as this one, as you already know."

Leon looked sheepish. _Gwaine_, he thought sourly, _it's all Gwaine's fault._

"I'll have your horse readied immediately, milord."

* * *

Agravaine had wasted no time in riding out to meet Morgana after seeing Gwen leave Camelot, wishing to share the good news with his lady. He expected her to be delighted; they were finally rid of the serving wench and could move forward with their plans.

He was quite surprised when the news seemed to bring Morgana no contentment.

"I thought you'd be pleased, milady," he observed cautiously, wondering what had brought on the troubled look on her face.

"This means nothing," the raven-haired witch replied with bitterness, "She could still come back."

"Milady, surely - "

"She was in my dreams again," Morgana cut in furiously, "being crowned Queen and taking _my_ place upon the throne. I am not yet rid of her."

Agravaine frowned, disliking how the meagre servant could upset his lady in such a way. "Then perhaps, we need to seek a more permanent solution," he suggested, perking Morgana's interest, "She is riding for Nemeth as we speak…_alone_. Maybe it would be best if we made sure she never reaches her destination."

A shadow of a smile crossed Morgana's features as a plan began forming in her mind.

* * *

Arthur followed the imprints left by his uncle's horse easily; there had been a slight rain the previous night, softening the ground and making the hoofmarks easy to spot.

The trail ended by a small cabin in the woods and Arthur directed his horse a little further behind the trees, dismounting and laying low in the thick bushes as he waited his uncle to make an appearance.

What he saw once the sturdy door opened made his blood boil; his uncle was being escorted outside by Morgana, smiling at something she had said. Arthur couldn't make out the words but it wasn't necessary for him to hear their conversation anyway; his eyes offered him all the proof he needed.

Guinevere had been right…_of course_ she had.

Agravaine mounted his horse and took off as Morgana retired back into her lair but Arthur stayed motionless for some time afterwards, trying to quell the burning in his eyes. The sting of betrayal cut deep through his heart, making it rattle violently with both sadness and fury.

How could his uncle do this to him? To his sister's only son? He had told him many times about the promise he'd made to his mother, a promise of protection and guidance…how could be break his word in such a vile manner?

The hurt of betrayal faded as another truth struck him. Merlin had tried to warn him about his uncle's true allegiances. Gaius had hinted at it. And Guinevere…Guinevere had risked her life to come and tell him about it. But he'd dismissed them all and all but called his beloved a treacherous liar.

He was such a fool.

* * *

Gwen paused to study her map as she made her way through the woods, trying to find the shortest route to Nemeth. If she crossed a few small rivers and streams rather than detouring them, she could save up to a day's worth of riding.

Satisfied with her new plan, she tucked the piece of parchment back into her satchel and kicked the horse's shins.

"These woods are not safe for a woman travelling alone."

The voice alone made chills run up and down Gwen's spine and she pulled the reigns back, managing to stop the animal just as Morgana cut her path, riding a horse of her own.

"You should know this better than most," Morgana went on mockingly, a small smirk curving the corner of her lips.

Gwen fought her fear, refusing to let her former mistress see just how scared she was. "What do you want, Morgana?"

"I only want what is rightfully mine, of course," the other woman replied airily before her expression turned dark in a blink of an eye, "But you keep getting in my way."

Gwen shook her head sadly. "I have done nothing to make you hate me this much."

"You have done _plenty_," Morgana hissed as her eyes burned a deep shade of orange and Gwen screamed as she was thrown off her horse. She was grateful for the soft ground and cover of leaves that softened her fall.

Her horse, spooked by the mayhem, broke off into a gallop, soon disappearing out of sight along with everything Gwen had packed for her journey.

Her side throbbed from the impact but Morgana gave her no time to regain her wits as she lifted her off the ground and slammed her back against the trunk of a nearby tree. Words Gwen didn't understand left the witch's mouth and she watched in horror as the tree's branches seemed to liquefy, moulding themselves around her wrists and waist before turning into solid wood again. She was trapped.

Morgana approached her in slow steps, letting her eyes roam over the small dagger she held in her hand languidly.

"I've tried to keep you away from what's mine, Gwen," she began casually as she came to stand inches from her former maid, "But no matter what I do, you still come back…time after time. I fear you leave me no choice but to put an end to your meddlesome ways once and for all."

Gwen watched her with misted eyes, struggling to understand the cold, detached cruelty she saw in Morgana's bright irises. This was what years of friendship and camaraderie had come to; a threat of impending death in the middle of no man's land.

"I have no desire for the throne of Camelot, Morgana," Gwen spoke quietly, "I never have."

The other's woman temper suddenly flared, her eyes sparkling with rage. "Then why do I keep seeing you in my dreams, sitting on my throne with a crown on your head?" she yelled furiously, her admission coming as a surprise to Gwen, "You haunt my dreams night after night! I will stop you from taking what belongs to me, if it's the last thing I do!"

Gwen remained silent for a while, watching as Morgana's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing uneven and ragged. As she felt waves of anger and bitterness roll off Morgana, she felt her fear draining away. If she was already going to die, then she would do so with dignity.

"Despite what you believe," she began calmly after some time, "I don't seek to take…_your _throne. All I wanted was to be Arthur's wife…but it appears the fates are against us; they always have been. I left Camelot behind when I set out to ride for Nemeth…and I don't plan on returning. Who sits on the throne you so desire doesn't concern me in any way whatsoever."

She saw a flicker of some kind of emotion cross Morgana's face but she went on before the other woman got a chance to speak. "I was your friend, Morgana," she reminisced with a hint of nostalgia, "I loved and cherished you like the sister I never had. I cared for you and I stood by you…but you've forsaken all that – forsaken _me_ – for…_a throne_," she accused, an anger of her own beginning to course through her veins; the bond of sisterhood they had shared, the comfort Gwen gave her when she had her nightmares…how could a simple throne be worth all of that?

"A bejewelled chair!" Gwen yelled with all the pain and hurt she carried within her heart. "And you know what the worst part is? I miss our friendship! I miss it _terribly_."

Gwen's vision was clouded by all the tears she stubbornly refused to let fall but she could swear Morgana's cold mask of hatred had melted, revealing the same scared, troubled woman Gwen had once known and loved.

Morgana suddenly let out a growl of frustration and pounced forward, resting the dagger's sharp blade against the side of Gwen's neck.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, you foolish servant!" she spat, eyes wild. She pressed the blade harder, making Gwen cringe in pain as it pierced her skin.

"Then kill me!" Gwen shouted back, wondering if she had finally lost every last bit of sanity she had left. Taunting Morgana in such a manner would surely earn her a slit throat but she couldn't help it; she was just so tired. Tired of being put in the middle of these games of the crown she never wanted to be a part of. "If my friendship meant nothing to you, if power is all you wish for, then _kill me_!"

Morgana's entire frame shook with battling emotions as the hand holding the dagger jerked with tremors, her teeth gritted and bared as she stared at the woman who had once been her dearest friend; a woman she was about to murder.

Her shout tore through the stillness of the woods and the blade flew away from Gwen's throat; the confines that bound her to the tree came undone and she fell to the ground, panting as her eyes locked with Morgana's.

The latter was still shouting furiously, though no actual words left her lips. She growled and hissed in anger but made no move to attack again.

Slowly, Gwen rose to her feet. For a moment, neither of them moved; unspoken words and emotions flew between them…memories of shared experiences, of devotion and loyalty and finally, of the heavy weight of betrayal.

Gwen broke eye contact first and her feet leapt into action; she ran as fast as her legs would carry her, stumbling through the forest blindly as she tried to put as much distance as possible between Morgana and herself.

The echo of more screams of fury and anguish rattled the leaves and scared off the birds, making a choked sob leave Gwen's throat as the sounds reached her ears.

* * *

**A/N 2: I know that having Morgana spare Gwen may seem a bit far-fetched given how heartless everyone's favourite witch has become on the show but personally, I always prefer to write the characters a bit more grey rather than just black and white. That is precisely why I will be exploring Agravaine's motives for betrayal a little further in the next chapter; I know the show has simplified his reasons but I want to give his allegiance to Morgana some actual foundation. **

**That all said, the next chapter should probably be finished by this time tomorrow...unless I am deterred from my writing by some unexpected happenings. Like a giant octopus landing in my living room...although, given the monstrous spider I found there a couple of days ago, an octopus invasion may not be that unlikely. **


	4. The Learning of New Truths

**A/N: It seems that I _have_ been deterred from my writing by unexpected happenings. Rest assured, no giant octopuses have invaded; it was something even more gruesome. You see, my roommate and I have come to realise that our living habits are messier than any man's; many hours were therefore spent by breathing in toxic chemicals from cleaning supplies. Ah, the joys of scrubbing down a toilet...**

**But anyway, the new chapter is all written and I do hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

Leon waited for his King's return in the courtyard, knowing he should be riding back in soon. He had seen Agravaine come back a little less than an hour ago and assumed Arthur wouldn't be far behind.

As the latter came into sight, Leon immediately noticed his furrowed brows and dark mood; whatever discovery he had made about his uncle, it didn't seem to sit well with him.

"Gather Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Merlin and Gaius" Arthur ordered as soon as he dismounted, "And ask them to join me in the throne room. You are then to escort my uncle there."

"Yes, sire," Leon accepted the task readily, quickly finding the men and relating the King's orders to them before making his way to Lord Agravaine's chambers.

Arthur paced the room restlessly, plagued by his painful thoughts.

"Leon said you wished to see us," Gaius spoke as he, Merlin and Arthur's most trusted Knights came through the doors.

"Yes," Arthur confirmed as he faced the gathered men. "I have made a…discovery this afternoon and I wish to share it with you."

Everyone nodded…except for Gwaine, of course. He looked sceptical. "Why us?"

Arthur almost smiled. "Because I have come to realise that, out of all the people in this kingdom, you are the very few I can truly trust."

If anything, the response made Gwaine grow even warier. "I don't think I like where this is going."

Arthur didn't get a chance to respond as Agravaine entered the room, followed closely by Leon. Arthur gave the Knight a small nod and the latter shut the doors behind him.

Agravaine looked around the room, obviously confused by the setting he had found himself in. "Sir Leon said you wished to see me," he said slowly, unnerved by everyone's eyes on him.

"Indeed, uncle," Arthur said flatly but there was an edge to his voice, one that came forth when the King addressed his enemies. It made Merlin exchange a confused look with Gaius.

"I followed you today," Arthur informed Agravaine after a few moments, making his uncle's eyes widen, "I saw you in the woods…with Morgana."

The room was deathly still for a long while. Finally, Agravaine broke the silence.

"Milord," he began, his sweet, encouraging smile making Arthur's stomach churn, "I understand how it must have seemed. I assure you - "

"Don't think that you can fool me again," Arthur interjected, his eyes hardening even further at the other man's attempts at weaselling his way out of the situation; an honourable man would at least have the courage to admit to his mistakes.

Still, Agravaine's hypocritical smile didn't falter. "You know I have your best interests at heart, Arthur. I was only _pretending_ to be on your sister's side in order to get information that - "

"No more lies, uncle!" Arthur bellowed, making whatever fabricated story Agravaine was about to tell die on his lips. The two men regarded each other for a long moment before Agravaine's entire demeanour shifted; his smile disappeared as if it had never even been there and his eyes turned cold with hatred and disdain.

"Very well," he spoke flatly, his tone just as stony as his gaze.

Arthur fought his eyes' urge to water at the unspoken yet undeniable confession; he would not give his treacherous relative the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

"Why?" he inquired after a while, finally voicing the question that had roamed his mind from the moment he'd witnessed Agravaine and Morgana's encounter in the woods.

"You do not belong on the throne of Camelot," Agravaine spoke with animosity, in a tone his nephew had never heard him use before, "And neither did your idiotic father."

"_Do not _speak of my father," Arthur warned, "He was twice the man you could ever be."

The words seemed to enrage Agravaine and he instinctively took a menacing step in Arthur's direction; Leon and Elyan reacted in the blink of an eye, grabbing the traitor by the shoulders and forcing him on his knees before the King.

He grunted at the pain their actions caused but the fury in his eyes did not quell. "Your father was an arrogant fool!" he hissed, almost shaking in his anger, "His thirst for power and fame cost my sister her life!"

"My mother died because of the evil that is magic," Arthur said quietly, "My father had no hand in her death."

Agravaine laughed hysterically. "She died because of magic indeed but the only evil at play was Uther! He was so desperate for an heir, so keen on prolonging the Pendragon dynasty…he used magic to get what he wanted and my poor sister paid the price! Do you really believe magic is evil by nature, you fool? Magic was welcomed in Camelot, your father was friends with many sorcerers; he even had a court sorceress appointed. He asked her for a son and she granted his wish…she warned him of the risks but he was so arrogant, so _stupid,_ that he did not believe her words. And my sister died because of it!"

His voice bounced off the stone walls and echoed in everyone's mind, none more so than Arthur's. He'd heard that story before…from his mother's own lips. But that hadn't really been his mother, had it? It had all been a ploy concocted by Morgause…a ploy to make him take his father's life in a fit of righteous rage. Merlin had told him that…

His eyes left the kneeling man at his feet and connected with those of his servant; he wanted his scrawny friend to give him the reassurance he had before…that his father hadn't been the cause of his mother's death. Surely, Merlin would appease his mind this time too.

But what he saw in the other man's eyes caused a heavy weight to settle on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Merlin's irises were glossed over with tears of sadness and regret; he nodded slowly and Arthur felt his heart break again.

"Ygraine was so sweet and gentle," Agravaine spoke again, more quietly this time, "She was the apple of my eye, my dear sister. My brother Tristan and I loved her more than anything else in the world," he reminisced with a rueful smile before his features hardened once more, "She was too good for your pest of a father. He didn't care for her, not the way we did…he sacrificed her for the promise of a son, for the sake of a throne!"

Arthur finally tore his eyes away from Merlin's as the full truth finally sank in; what he had heard years ago was no lie. His father had indeed used magic to get his mother to conceive, to create a new life inside of her. But it had meant the end of her own…and his father was to blame. Uther had lied to him his entire life; even when Arthur had confronted him in this very room, he still looked him in the eye and _lied_. His own father had betrayed him in an unimaginable way…was there really no one who _hadn't_ betrayed him at some point in time?

He struggled to find his voice but when he finally did, it was tinged with hurt and sorrow. "My father's sins are his own," he addressed his uncle, "And yet, you have turned against _me_. I am not to blame for his mistakes."

"Perhaps not," Agravaine responded, "But I look at you now and do you know what I see? I see a man who is as arrogant as his father was; I see a sovereign who rules with his fickle heart rather than his head and I see a weakling who has no idea what he really wants. You are not fit to rule a kingdom and you most certainly were not worth my sister's life, boy!"

Arthur's jaw flexed repeatedly as he fought to maintain his composure. His uncle's words had hurt him deeply; the idea that his mother's life had been wasted on him - someone who was apparently not worth the dirt under her nails - was one that he could not bear.

"You will be locked in the dungeons," Arthur voiced his sentence for his uncle's crimes, "Treason such as yours should be punished by death but unlike you, I could never wish to kill my own flesh and blood…no matter how despicable they may be. You will remain in your cell until Morgana is no longer a threat to the kingdom; you will then be banished from Camelot…and believe me when I say that _your_ return will most certainly be upon pain of death."

* * *

Gwen collapsed on the dirtied soil, tired and gasping for breath. She had run for a long time, even after she could no longer hear Morgana's screams in the air around her. The witch had not followed her and it seemed she had given up on ending her life…for the time being.

Gwen liked to think Morgana's change of heart meant that there was still some good left in her but she dared not hope; it would be naïve of her to believe her old mistress would suddenly give up on her plans for revenge.

Besides, there were more important things she had to worry about. Her horse, along with her food and water supplies and – most importantly – her map to Nemeth, was long gone. She also had no idea where she was; she had run in no particular direction, only wishing to escape as far away as possible and was now lost in unfamiliar woods.

A sob escaped her throat and she felt it pulse painfully, reminding her of the gash Morgana's dagger had left on her neck. It was no serious injury, nothing more than a scratch, but the rush of blood through her veins had caused small red droplets to flow down the delicate skin.

She brushed them away hastily as she sobbed once more. She was lost with no way of knowing where she was; she could wander the woods in hopes of finding a familiar landmark but chances were she'd get intercepted by slave traders before she managed to learn her way around the territory.

She sobbed again. What had she done to deserve all of this? Yes, she had betrayed her love in the worst way but did she truly deserve to be punished in such a way, over and over again?

She drew her knees to her chin and rested her forehead against the protruding bones, relishing in the darkness the position offered. She didn't want to see the world anymore.

Her momentary peace was interrupted as a strong gust of wind blew around her, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the softened ground. She lifted her head in surprise and then screamed.

"There is no need to be scared. I wish you no harm."

She scrambled to her feet clumsily as her mind struggled to process what her eyes were seeing. "You…you're supposed to be dead."

The Great Dragon tilted his massive head to the side. "And you are not supposed to be wandering the woods by yourself. You are lucky the young warlock has ordered me to keep an eye on you."

Gwen instantly grew even warier. "What young warlock?"

"He is your friend."

She shook her head adamantly. "I am not friends with any sorcerers or warlocks."

"It is not wise to let the prejudices of a few cloud your judgement," Kilgharrah advised, his eyes narrowing at her comment.

"Magic has brought me nothing but pain," she countered, making him shake his head slightly.

"You are quite wrong, young Guinevere. Even if you do not know it, magic has also brought you joy. And it will also bring you more joy in the future."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we all have our destiny…and yours, Lady Guinevere, is quite a remarkable one."

"I…I'm not a lady," she responded impulsively, unable to even begin to comprehend what this gibberish about destiny was.

"Perhaps not yet…but you will be."

She didn't speak again, making the dragon grow impatient. "Shall we head to Nemeth, then?"

"We? What do you mean '_we'_?"

She couldn't be sure, but it seemed like he rolled his eyes. "I've told you, the young warlock has _ordered_ me to keep you safe…and that means I must ensure your safe passage to Nemeth."

"I thought only Dragonlords could command dragons."

"The young warlock _is _a Dragonlord."

"But…the last Dragonlord died years ago."

"His name was Balinor," Kilgharrah informed her, appearing to be very annoyed by her reluctance to comply with the orders he was given, "And he did indeed die shortly after I escaped the prison Uther had confined me to. But his son carries on his legacy."

Gwen pursed her lips, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the beast. "I am sorry you had to live that way for so many years…even if you did almost burn Camelot to the ground."

"I am not proud of my actions that day," the dragon told her, his head bowing slightly in shame, "I sought vengeance for what was done to me and my kind; I wanted retribution for the slaughtering of my kin. I know now that I was wrong."

Gwen nodded slowly. "I can understand that. I do not condone it but I can understand it."

"Your kindness and wisdom are the subject of many prophecies," Kilgharrah voiced a part of his vast knowledge, surprising Gwen yet again, "I see now that there is truth in them."

She had no way of responding to such claims and instead chose to ignore them entirely. The dragon must have confused her with some other Guinevere. "Well, if you could just point me in the direction of Nemeth, I would - "

"I am to _ensure_ your arrival to the kingdom you wish to reach," the dragon stressed again, "The young warlock's instructions were quite specific. I will therefore be taking you there myself."

"Oh…I'm…that really won't be necessary," Gwen insisted; though he seemed like he meant no harm, she still couldn't bring herself to trust the beast.

The words seemed to displease Kilgharrah greatly. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so by now," he pointed out, "Would you not rather arrive to Nemeth in a matter of hours than spend days wandering through these woods?"

Gwen bit down on her lip as she considered her options. The dragon did make a very valid point; he could have killed her by now if he had wanted to and having him take her to Nemeth would certainly be much less tiring than making the journey on foot. Besides, she had nothing to lose anyway.

"All right," she finally conceded, "you can take me to Nemeth."

He nodded in response and laid his head against the ground, lowering his long neck so she could climb on his back.

"I will be flying you to Nemeth," he clarified when her brows drew together in confusion. She approached him cautiously and put her hands on the small horns gracing the side of his head, using them as purchase so she could throw herself upwards and onto his neck. She noticed his disgruntled expression as she did so.

"You don't seem very pleased with the idea," she observed, making him grunt in annoyance.

"I have told the young warlock that I am not a horse many times," he complained rather petulantly, making Gwen bite back a smile. "It appears my words have fallen on deaf ears."

* * *

As the guards led Agravaine to the cell that would become his new home, Arthur told everyone but Merlin to leave him.

He turned to his servant once the other men closed the doors behind them. "You lied to me," he accused, causing Merlin to bow his head down in shame.

"I did," he admitted, "But you must know that I only hid the truth from you because I did not want you to kill your own father; it would have been an impossible burden for you to carry on your conscience. And after Uther passed…well, I didn't want to taint your memory of him."

Arthur nodded at the explanation, knowing that Merlin had only had good intentions. It didn't make the knowledge of deception hurt any less, though.

"I put my father on a pedestal," he spoke quietly, letting his eyes linger on the throne Uther had sat on for so many years, "Even when I knew he was wrong, even when he accused or executed innocent people…I still thought of him as a strong and fair King. It turns out he was the biggest liar of them all."

Merlin sighed deeply at the bitterness in Arthur's voice. "Do you want to know what I think?"

Arthur chuckled lightly. "Not particularly but I get the feeling you are going to tell me anyway."

The warlock smiled at the words before proceeding. "I think your father was ridden with guilt after what happened to your mother…and I think he chose to blame everyone else for her passing because he could not bear such a burden."

"I think the same," Arthur whispered, "I cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like to be responsible for the death of someone you love so dearly. I still lose sleep over what I almost…what I almost did to Guinevere during our hunting trip. I dare not think how I would feel if I had actually…"

He didn't voice the rest of his sentence aloud but Merlin knew what he meant; if he had killed Gwen, Arthur would be a completely broken man.

"This changes many things, Merlin," the King spoke again after a momentary silence, "What my father did to people with magic…I always thought he was at least somewhat right to do it. But I see now that it was a grave injustice…all the evil magic has caused us is of his doing."

Merlin watched his friend's back in wonder, feeling an almost foreign sensation of hope spread through his body. The corners of his lips curved upwards involuntarily and he couldn't help the silly grin that now graced his features. Perhaps destiny was finally taking its rightful course.

"Does that mean that you will be changing Camelot's laws?" he asked, trying not to sound too rejoiced with the idea.

"Not yet," Arthur responded and Merlin's smile dimmed slightly; maybe he was expecting too much too soon. "But I will reconsider them in time. Right now, we have more important things to worry about…Morgana and Helios will be attacking soon and we must be prepared."

Merlin's grin was restored immediately. "You believe what Gwen has told you."

"Of course I do…she also tried to warn me about my uncle and I didn't listen at first…but she was right."

"She usually is."

Arthur smiled ruefully at the remark, knowing it to be true. "I wish she were here, Merlin," he confessed as new tears sprang to his eyes.

"We all do."

Arthur nodded, closing his eyes for a moment in order to recollect himself. He only managed to see her smiling face swimming behind the dark curtain of his eyelids.

"We need to learn more about the attack Morgana is planning," he said as he forced his mind to focus, hearing the ghostly echo of Guinevere's laughter in his ear all the while. "We must…extract the information from my uncle."

Merlin frowned. "As far as I've seen, Kings only extract information through some form of torture."

The accusatory edge of the words was not lost on Arthur and he shook his head slightly. "I know that is the common practice," he agreed, "but I was never fond of such methods. To cause such pain to another for your own purposes is a savage thing; I could never do it, especially not to my uncle…he may be a traitor but he is still my family."

"Then, what do you propose?"

Arthur sighed and walked to the throne on weary legs, sitting on it tiredly. "I don't know," he admitted, running a hand over his face, "We could offer him some sort of deal but I doubt he'd accept; he seems to be too loyal to Morgana. And even if we do, by some miracle, get him to talk, there is no guarantee he will tell us anything but more lies."

Merlin crossed the room in slow strides, coming to a stand next to Arthur's seated form. "There must be something we can do."

The King sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair furiously before letting out a short laugh. "Guinevere would know what to do," he said regretfully, his eyes darting to the stone floor and envisioning her kind ones staring back at him, "She would tell me what I have to do."

Merlin considered this before shrugging. "Then perhaps you should think like her…ask yourself what her counsel would be."

Arthur scoffed at the idea. "I'm not smart enough for that."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, dollop-head," Merlin teased lightly, "I know you have a semblance of a brain in there somewhere. Now think; if you had brought this issue to her, what would Gwen tell you?"

Arthur's brows furrowed in concentration as he played with her betrothal ring that now rested around his own neck absentmindedly. Gwen had always been a peaceful soul; she would not suggest violence. "She would tell me to use words rather than my sword," he began slowly and Merlin encouraged him to continue with a nod.

He willed himself to see things through Guinevere's eyes; she was a woman, so she always needed to come up with more astute ways than just brute force to get herself out of trouble. He recalled the way she had impersonated Morgana in order to stay alive when Hengist had captured her; he remembered how she had pretend to be loyal to his sister when the latter had taken the throne so she could help Leon escape…

_That's it_, he thought triumphantly and a small smile curved his lips. "She would tell me to trick him."

* * *

"This is as far as I go," Kilgharrah announced as he landed on a clearing a short distance away from Nemeth's capital and allowed Gwen to dismount.

She wobbled slightly as her feet touched solid ground again, her hair dishevelled and wild.

_I must make quite the sight,_ she thought moodily as she tried to regain her balance.

"Thank you, uh…I just realised I don't even know your name," she said, laughing nervously.

"My name is Kilgharrah."

"Well, thank you, Kilgharrah," she expressed her gratitude, "I know you were only following orders but your help is still much appreciated."

He inclined his head slightly. "I do hope our paths will cross again, Guinevere," he said simply before outstretching his large wings and flying into the air once more.

Gwen watched him go, unable to contain her small smile of wonder. She had met _a dragon_; and he turned out be quite…well, _nice _was probably not the right choice of words but it was the best she could come up with. It was quite confusing though; she had grown up with the notion that magic was pure evil and that all those who practised it were enemies but this young warlock Kilgharrah spoke of seemed to be on her side. He had ensured her protection, hadn't he? Perhaps she needed to reconsider her views on sorcery.

Shaking her head slightly, she headed towards her destination.

She arrived in the city shortly after, taking a moment to observe the bustling streets. Nemeth was both quite similar and very different to Camelot; its streets were crowded with stalls and merchants, buzzing with action and life. The citadel lay beyond a small rivulet that separated it from the busy streets and Gwen lingered on the small bridge that allowed for the crossing of the stream. She breathed in the air and felt a sense of peace come over her; she could make a good life for herself here…she could be happy.

She made her way to the vast courtyard with a smile, looking for someone who could direct her to the Princess Mithian. She needn't look far since the Princess was in the courtyard herself, idly chatting with a man in armour.

"Milady!" Gwen called out as she approached the pair; Mithian's head turned in the direction of her voice and her eyes widened.

"Gwen!" she exclaimed as her new maid came closer. "Heavens, what's happened to you?"

"I…ran into some trouble on my way here," Gwen replied evasively; the Princess didn't have to know about Morgana and Kilgharrah. "It's nothing to worry about."

Mithian looked disconcerted for a moment but the radiant smile on the other woman's face seemed to appease her mind. "In that case, I am immensely glad to see you. This is Sir Brenner," she introduced the man at her side, "he has been my personal guard for as long as I can remember. Sir Brenner, this is Guinevere, although her friends call her Gwen. She is my new handmaiden."

Sir Brenner was a tall man, with pitch-black hair, a stubble in matching colour and piercing green eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Gwen," he said in a friendly tone.

She curtseyed politely. "The pleasure is all mine, Sir Brenner."

"There is no need for such formalities," he dismissed her courteous manners, "As the lady's new maid, you'll be spending an awful lot of time with me; I rarely ever leave the Princess' side. Also, _my friends_ call me Bren."

Gwen grinned in response. "Very well, _Bren_."

"That's much better. Also, and you'll forgive me for saying this, you're a mess."

"Bren!" Mithian admonished but Gwen only laughed at the observation.

"It's fine, milady. I must look dreadful indeed."

"I've told you before to call me by my given name," Mithian reminded her as she began leading her towards the castle, "If Bren can receive such friendly treatment then I insist upon it as well. Now, let's get you sorted out, shall we?"

* * *

Some hours later, Gwen had washed away the dirt of the forest and changed into new clothes. The dress the Princess had given her was simple but quite elegant; Gwen had tried to decline such a valuable gift but Mithian would hear none of it. If Gwen was going to be her personal maid, she had said, then she would dress accordingly.

The Princess had gone to see her father for some matter the latter wished to discuss with her, leaving Gwen and Sir Brenner to wait outside the council chambers.

"What do you make of Nemeth, Gwen?" he asked conversationally, sinking his teeth into the apple he held in his hand.

"It's lovely," she replied, once again letting her eyes skim over the grandiose structure; the palace was not as big or ornate as the one in Camelot but it was still a sight to behold.

"Not half as lovely as Camelot from what I hear," he remarked, "It makes one wonder why you would choose this kingdom as your new home."

Gwen stiffened slightly at the words. "There is nothing left for me in Camelot anymore."

He smiled at her defensive behaviour. "Don't worry, I won't judge. I am merely curious. The Princess has only told me that she met you while in Camelot and instantly grew fond of you."

"You said you rarely left her side…but I didn't see you in Camelot."

He sighed. "I'm afraid an injury to my side prevented me from riding," he explained, "I wanted to go anyway but my lady insisted I stayed here. This is probably selfish of me, but I'm glad King Arthur has sent her back to Nemeth…I may only be known to others as her personal guard but she is my closest friend."

"I am certain she thinks the same of you," Gwen said with a smile.

"I like to think so. But tell me, what is it that brings you here, Gwen?"

She hesitated, reluctant to share her story with someone who was still a stranger to her.

He smiled reassuringly. "Whatever it is, I won't think ill of you. If it will put you at ease, I can share my story first."

She nodded quickly and he obliged to her unspoken request. "Very well. I am a Knight, as you know. I was very young, no more than thirteen, when I was appointed as the Princess' personal guard. I was very strong and quick for my age, you see."

"Is it common practice here to appoint personal guards to royalty?" Gwen couldn't contain her curiosity; it certainly wasn't customary in Camelot.

"It isn't. But the King and Queen are very protective of their daughter; they wanted someone who could ensure her safety at all times."

The entire concept still confused Gwen. "But it must be…uh…_strange_ for a man to be so close to a noblewoman every hour of the day."

"Ah, you mean that her honour may become comprised in my presence," he understood the real question behind Gwen's words and she blushed in embarrassment, making him laugh.

"There are probably some who wonder about it," he conceded, "but their royal Highnesses know there is no need to worry; I have no interest in beautiful women, you see. My tastes lay elsewhere entirely."

Gwen's eyes widened as she grasped the meaning behind his words. "Oh. _Oh._"

"Does this knowledge bother you?"

She shook her head adamantly, seeing that he had misinterpreted her surprise as repulsion. "No, of course not," she reassured, "I am just surprised to hear someone talk about it so openly. It is not unheard of and besides, who am I to judge the ways of the heart? I know that you can't help who you fall in love with; I know it very well."

His eyebrows rose in interest. "Well, you must tell me all about it now."

She sighed as she finally caved into his request. She cleared her throat before beginning with her life's tale. "Like you, I was quite young when I was appointed as the personal maid to the Lady Morgana…"


	5. The Scheming of Royals

**A/N: New chapter for your reading pleasure. Well, at least _I hope_ it will be a pleasure. **

**Anyway, this one is more about setting everything in place for the _next_ chapter than anything else. It has some glimpses of Gwen's life in Nemeth, a bit about His Royal Pratness being sneaky for once and a little Arthur-misses-Gwennie moment though so I hope you'll enjoy that :)**

* * *

Arthur studied the young man before him meticulously, wondering if he was truly the person they needed to make their plan work.

After he had come to his epiphany regarding a course of action, the King had consulted his most trusted men, asking if any of them knew someone who would fit the part he had in mind and, more importantly, whose loyalty to Camelot could not be questioned.

After some debate and Gwaine's outrageous suggestions of giving the task to one of the lovely ladies from the tavern, Elyan had come forth, stating that he knew a lad a few years younger than himself who matched Arthur's requirements quite well.

The boy's name was Delbert and he was a scrawny little thing, with wide brown eyes and a weak chin. Not exactly the fearless citizen who would put his neck on the line for his King that Elyan had described.

"Tell me, Delbert," Arthur spoke after having finished his initial assessment, "What's your story?"

"My story is nothing particularly enticing, milord," the boy replied in a rather sturdy voice, one fitter for someone much older than him, "I was born in Camelot, as were my mother and father before me. I make a living by helping the city's blacksmiths; I don't earn much but it's enough to put some clothes on my back and food on my table."

Arthur nodded. So far so…very uninteresting. "And has Sir Elyan told you why I required your presence today?"

"Elyan has only told me that you have a plan to defeat the witch Morgana, milord," Delbert replied and hatred coloured his voice as he uttered Arthur's sister's name, "and that I could be of assistance. If that is so, Your Highness, then I am at your service."

His words intrigued Arthur greatly. "You seem to be very hateful of Morgana," he observed, making the boy smile wryly and bitterly.

"Indeed I am, milord. I had a family once, you see; my father, blessed be his spirit, died when I was a child but my mother and brother were still with me until your half-sister took over the throne a year and a half ago. They died in the courtyard, massacred along with many more honest citizens of the kingdom."

Leon bowed his head mournfully at the reminder of that dreadful day; he had never felt like he had failed in his duty until he had witnessed the people he had sworn to protect being murdered because he and his brothers had refused to pledge their loyalties to the usurper of the throne.

"My brother," Delbert continued speaking, "He was a kind soul but he was a simpleton…he didn't understand things as other people do. He always liked to attend large gatherings in the courtyard; be it celebrations or executions. He had no thirst for blood, I assure you, but he…he liked the sound of drums playing," the boy said as his eyes filled with tears. "It gave him happiness for some reason we could never discover. And my mother, she would always accompany him to such events, to keep an eye him…make sure he didn't get lost. And so they were both in the square that day when the witch gave the orders to execute civilians…the crowd scattered, people were trying to flee but my brother, he didn't understand. An arrow pierced his heart before my mother could do anything to save him; she was killed as she lay crying over his body."

All the other men in the room were moved by Delbert's story and there was silence before the latter spoke again with the determination of a wolf keen on catching its prey. "And that, milord, is why I will do whatever it takes to make Morgana pay for her crimes."

Arthur stared at Delbert in wonder. Elyan had been right; this boy was perfect for the job.

"In that case, Delbert, I have a very important task for you."

* * *

Gwen sighed as Mithian asked for her opinion on yet another piece of silk. The Princess insisted on having new dresses made for her new handmaiden and Gwen had felt her cheeks burning from the moment Mithian had begun laying scraps upon scraps of material on the bed, demanding Gwen's assessment of each.

Bren stood by the largest window in the Princess' chambers, observing the scene in amusement. "I think the blue one really compliments your skin," he commented, enjoying the glare Gwen threw in his direction. Mithian positively beamed.

"I was thinking the same thing," she rejoiced as she held the soft material against Gwen's collarbone, raising her eyebrow at the other woman's displeased expression. "Don't deny me my fun, Gwen."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Gwen retorted rather sarcastically but indulged in Mithian's desires anyway. "This shade of blue would look good with some mauve layers added to it; perhaps even a bit of embroidery on the bodice."

"Excellent idea," Mithian agreed happily, rummaging through the supplies in search of the perfect shade of mauve to add to Gwen's new dress.

"You better get used to this, Gwen," Bren advised, "If I know the Princess at all, this will only be the first of many dresses to come."

Gwen breathed in deeply. "I suppose there are worse things than being dressed above my station."

Mithian scoffed. "You were almost crowned Queen of Camelot; I doubt any common rules apply to you."

"You were almost crowned Queen as well," Gwen pointed out, "If Princess Elena of Gawanth were here too, we could form a club."

"Ah, yes," Mithian agreed as she recalled the scandal Arthur had caused when he had interrupted his wedding to Elena a few years back, "The Almost-Queens of Camelot. We'd make quite the group."

Bren shook his head. "That is no way to treat ladies with such kind hearts; to promise them marriage only to discard them shortly after. I am beginning to think this King Arthur of Camelot has no honour."

"He has honour," Gwen defended her love, "Quite a bit of it, actually. He's just not very…_apt_ with matters of the heart."

"A man of true honour would not break his word in such a way…three times, no less."

"Arthur is a great man," Gwen asserted, "A most wonderful King. And if you recall what I have told you, _I_ was the one who broke _my_ word to _him_; he did not wrong me in that way."

"He still wronged Mithian and the Princess Elena," Bren pointed out, "And besides, what you did was make a mistake; it's hardly unforgivable. And if _he_ had done the same thing to you with some other woman, no one would say he was in the wrong…some poor bastards would even praise him for being so _virile_."

Mithian nodded sombrely. "Men like to treat women as inferior," she said regretfully, "and then think it inconceivable for us to turn on them."

"It is appalling," Gwen agreed, "but men are still the ones who make all the rules."

"Men may _write_ the rules," Bren began with a smirk, "but women are the ones who _make_ them; what you ladies have under your skirts makes more kingdoms rise and fall than any army."

"Gwen doesn't need to hear your filth, Bren," Mithian chastised, making the Knight roll his eyes.

"It's the truth and you know it," he maintained his ground, causing Gwen to smile.

"All for the love of a woman," she mused, "Isn't that what they say?"

Bren shrugged. "It is, though I couldn't say for certain that it's true; all I've ever done was for the love of a _man_."

"You still do," Mithian remarked, her voice now soft and sympathetic. The same sentiment was reflected in Gwen's eyes as she watched her new friend's irises cloud over with sadness momentarily.

In the few days that she had spent in Nemeth, Bren had shared many stories with her. Amongst those stories was the one of Sir Haelan. The two men had been in love since their early years, having developed affections for each from the moment they understood the meaning of love. Their relationship was not something they flaunted publicly but since they were both Knights, it allowed them to spend time together without raising suspicion. In many ways, the tale of Sirs Brenner and Haelan reminded Gwen of her own past with Arthur; the secret meetings, the stolen kisses away from prying eyes, the impossibility of their love…and much like her and Arthur, Bren and Haelan had been doomed. Bren had watched Haelan ride off to fight bandits on the kingdom's borders one morning; the next time he had laid eyes on him, his beloved was being wheeled in on a cart with his chest ripped open.

"Just because he is no longer with me does not mean that I have forgotten him," Bren said simply, making Gwen's eyes water a bit. _How very true_, she thought sadly before Mithian decided these sorrowful topics were no way to spend a beautiful morning and averted Gwen's attention back to the numerous fabrics on the bed.

* * *

"I bring food and water for the prisoner," Delbert, now dressed in a servant's uniform, informed the guards posted in front of Agravaine's cell. The two men in armour had received orders from the King to play along with the charade and nodded their heads curtly, stepping aside to let the boy in.

Agravaine made quite the pitiful sight, dirtied and dishevelled on the filthy stone floor. "I don't want any food or water," he barked, not even bothering to glance in Delbert's direction.

"You must have some, milord," the latter insisted before making a big show of glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Our dear _lady_ will be grieved if you were to fall ill or worse."

Agravaine's head rose slowly and he observed the boy through narrowed, sceptical eyes. Still, Delbert did not falter in his posture; the King had warned him that his uncle might suspect a trick. Delbert's task was to convince the traitor that this was no ploy.

"What are you talking about, boy?"

Delbert cast another glance toward the purposely ignorant guards before setting the tray down and approaching the prisoner. "We have never met before, Lord Agravaine," he said, making sure his voice held a dose of feigned respect, "But when I heard about your imprisonment and the reasons for it, I knew I had to find a way to come speak with you. We are on the same side, after all."

"Do you think me stupid, you foolish boy?"

"Of course not, milord."

"Do you really think that I could be swayed by my nephew's little tricks?"

Delbert sighed before his eyes fell on a slight gash on the other man's arm. "The prisoner is injured," he told the guards, "I will need some bandages and clean water to dress the wound. Well, don't just stand there, you know the King wants this prisoner in perfect health!"

The guards grumbled and left their posts, coming to halt just a couple of feet down the corridor but out of Agravaine's sight.

Satisfied with their performance, Delbert returned to the traitor on the ground. "That should give us sufficient time in private. I understand that you are wary of me, sire, as you should be. Only a fool would believe every word that leaves a man's mouth. But I assure you, milord, I am your ally; I am as loyal a servant of the Lady Morgana as you are."

Agravaine's suspicious gaze did not waver. "What could you possibly know about the Lady Morgana?"

Delbert smiled fondly. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning. A few years ago, my brother was discovered using magic; he was a simpleton and he could not help himself. He caused no harm to anyone but was executed for the magic he was born with. Still, Uther would not stop there; he pegged my entire family as sorcerers and traitors…my mother and father were executed as well. I was lucky to escape Camelot with my life. I wandered from kingdom to kingdom, barely finding any food to put in my belly, before I met the Lady Morgana in what was left of Cenred's kingdom. I had heard stories of her, of course, of the brave woman who stood up to Uther for her kind. But she too had been forced to flee, carrying her injured sister with her. It was not easy to convince her I meant well, but she did agree to let me assist her in any way I could. I came back to Camelot days later; I had changed quite a bit since I had last been here and no one recognised me. I have been her loyal spy ever since."

Agravaine seemed to be lowering his guard but he was still not fully convinced. "She has never mentioned you to me."

"Or you to me," Delbert countered with a sly smile, "It was quite a smart move on her part, if I may say so. She ensured both our true allegiances remained hidden to everyone but her."

"Morgana has always had a sharp mind," Agravaine commented absentmindedly and Delbert was relieved to see his words were finally getting beginning to sound like the truth to the traitor.

"Indeed, she has," the boy agreed readily, doing his best to let false adoration seep into his voice. "But milord, I'm afraid I don't have much time before the guards return and they may become suspicious; that fool Arthur has been doubtful of everyone these last few days. I can barely relieve myself without being questioned about it, if you'll forgive me for such crude words."

Agravaine began to smile now and Delbert could not have been more delighted. "My nephew is a fool indeed."

"Such a weak mind is not fit to rule Camelot. But, as I was saying sire, I must make haste. If you would be patient for the next few days, I will find a way to help you escape…I will ensure you leave the castle unharmed and I'm sure the Lady Morgana will provide you with further protection."

Agravaine shook his head. "Don't waste time on me, boy. Morgana will free me herself when she comes."

_Excellent_, Delbert thought triumphantly, _he is thinking just as we had hoped_. "Ah, yes. The day she marches on Camelot and takes her rightful place upon the throne with the help of Helios' army will a glorious one."

"That day is near."

Delbert nodded. "The lady has told me to be prepared, for that day will occur within mere weeks."

"Yes," Agravaine agreed hastily, "in two weeks. There is a feast on that day."

"Making it the perfect time to strike," Delbert concluded, fighting his revulsion as he forced himself to look rejoiced by the news, "This is marvellous, milord. We are just weeks away from finally being able to live freely under the rule of our Queen!"

"Yes, yes, but I was entrusted a task that I cannot complete now," the other man went on, his speech getting more urgent with each word, "It worried me that I would not be able to complete it but you can do it in my stead now."

"Name it, milord."

"Morgana's troops will be waiting for a signal. When everyone is enthralled with the feast, you must come to the Eastern Wall and wave your torch high. Morgana will have a man nearby waiting for the signal; you must make sure he sees it."

Delbert nodded vehemently, pretending to be absolutely honoured with the request. "I will, sire. I swear it."

The guards chose that moment to rattle the cell's door. "Here's what you asked for, boy."

Delbert thanked them and retrieved the supplies before once again kneeling by Agravaine's side. "Now, let's get you sorted out, milord. My lady would never forgive me if I didn't ease your suffering in this cell as much as I could."

* * *

"The attack will happen in two weeks' time, during the feast. One of the witch's men will be waiting for a signal; a flaming torch being waved towards the skies from the Eastern Wall," Delbert related his findings proudly some time later in the council chambers.

"Words cannot express how much I appreciate what you have done for us, Delbert," Arthur thanked him sincerely, making the young man blush slightly. "Your efforts must be rewarded; whatever you desire, you need it only name it and it shall be yours."

Delbert looked rather uncomfortable at the prospect of asking anything from the King. "Well, I…perhaps, uh…perhaps I could be given a steady job…in the palace…or somewhere?" he finally ventured and his jumbled request made Arthur smile; the boy had done them all such a great service and yet felt like it was too much to ask something in return.

"You've mentioned you work with blacksmiths; maybe working in the armoury will be something to your liking," the King suggested, "You would be in charge of keeping the blades sharp, the bows in working order and the shields smooth…would you like that?"

A huge grin lit up Delbert's face. "I would, milord; I would like that very much."

"It's settled then. Rest for today and come to Sir Leon tomorrow; he will explain your duties to you in detail."

The boy thanked him again abundantly before exiting the room with a slight bounce in his step.

"Does he speak the truth, Leon?" Arthur queried after the doors closed behind Delbert; unbeknownst to the boy, Leon had been posing as a prisoner in the cell next to Agravaine's and had listened in on the entire conversation.

"He does, sire," Leon confirmed.

"Then he is one remarkable lad," Arthur concluded, feeling like he had finally regained at least some control over his own kingdom.

"Gwen would be proud," Elyan commented fondly and only realised he'd spoken the words aloud when every pair of eyes in the room turned to him in questioning. He cleared his throat. "Gwen has always been fond of Delbert," he explained, "Since he has always worked with blacksmiths, he also helped our father quite a bit…I wasn't around much, as you know, but Gwen and Delbert grew close over the years."

"Why didn't he tell me this?" Arthur wondered, making Elyan shrug.

"I told him not to."

"Why would you do that?"

Elyan's tone was serious but his eyes held a glint of teasing. "Well sire, I didn't want the mere mention of my sister's name to make you _cry _again."

Arthur blanched at the words as everyone else snickered. They had gathered for a meeting the previous night but when they had finished discussing all matters of state, the wine had begun to flow more freely. As a result, the conversation soon turned to reminiscing funny and embarrassing stories, something Elyan seemed to have plenty of…and almost all of them involved Gwen in one way or another. The Knight spoke of her for a long time and Arthur hadn't realised that a tear had been running down his cheek until all eyes had turned to him in both apprehension and mocking.

They were never going to let him forget that small mishap.

He straightened to his full height and raised his chin with as much dignity as he could muster. "Don't you lot have anything better to do than pester me? Go do your jobs, you bunch of vermin!"

* * *

Gwen dropped all the linens she'd been gathering for laundry when Mithian burst into her chambers, uttering words that made no sense and waving a piece of parchment in the air.

"You startled me!" Gwen exclaimed, bringing a hand to her thundering heart. She silently cursed royals and the manner in which they entered rooms; they could make an unsuspecting soul's heart give out from fright someday.

Mithian ignored her completely and thrust the piece of parchment in her now free hands instead. "Read it."

Gwen did as she was told and let her eyes skim over the words. Her jaw was just about ready to hit the ground by the time she was finished with the reading. "This is…it's quite…I mean…"

"I know!" Mithian agreed, seemingly understanding the meaning behind Gwen's nonsensical words. "My father showed it to me and I thought I should give it to you as well. After all, Arthur does mention you in the letter."

"Indeed he does," Gwen mumbled, her mind still processing the information.

The letter, addressed to the King and Queen of Nemeth, was written by Arthur himself; he humbly asked – in the name of their new alliance – from Their Highnesses to provide shelter to the citizens of Camelot. His kingdom, it said, was preparing for battle and he could not let innocent men, woman and children be caught in the midst of it with a clear conscience. He'd learnt of his sister's plans to attack and wanted to set her a trap; he'd asked his other allies, Queen Annis and King Olaf, to send military reinforcements in order to ensure victory over Morgana's army. He would not ask such a thing from Nemeth as well though; he only wished for the kingdom to offer his people protection until the battle was over. He also dedicated a quite lengthy paragraph to her, stating that if it had not been for her insistence and the information she had brought him, Camelot would be in peril; he said one could not wish for a better person to take care of their daughter.

"What have your parents said?" Gwen asked after a while, slightly amazed by all the planning Arthur had gone through. It also warmed her heart because it meant he had believed her warnings; believed them enough to find solid proof of Morgana's plans.

"They've agreed, of course," Mithian replied while waving a hand in the air casually. "Arthur allowed Nemeth to reclaim the lands of Gedref unconditionally; they couldn't exactly refuse. Besides, I think my father was rather impressed with all the planning our almost-husband has put into this, especially with how passionate he is about protecting his people."

Gwen smiled at Mithian's description of Arthur. "He may be stubborn, arrogant and pig-headed but he has a heart of gold."

"He does," the Princess agreed before her expression turned thoughtful. "We should take part in the battle…"

"That _will not_ be happening," Bren stated firmly from the doorway, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Mithian rolled her eyes.

"I must agree with Bren," Gwen said with determination.

"You can't tell me you don't want to go," Mithian challenged, raising a knowing brow, "I know you want to be there, if only to make sure everyone is alive at the end of it."

"I won't deny it," Gwen responded resignedly, "but _you_ cannot go. You can't put yourself in danger in such a manner."

"Please, I am excellent with the sword."

"Playing soldiers in a field with me hardly prepares you for an actual battle with bloodthirsty men intent on killing you," Bren pointed out, still unwavering in his decision.

"Well then it's a good thing I have _you_ around for protection," Mithian countered, making Bren sigh in exasperation.

"It is _precisely _because my duty is to protect you that I can't allow this."

"I bet Gwen and I could take down more men than any of you pompous Knights."

"Petty taunts will have no effect on me."

"I wasn't taunting; I was merely stating a fact."

"Say whatever you want; you _are not_ going."

Mithian raised her chin defiantly. "Try and stop me," she declared as she marched out of the room, stating she needed to make arrangements for their journey to Camelot without raising her parents' suspicions.

Gwen and Bren exchanged helpless looks. "God help me," the Knight muttered as he exited the room as well, presumably to follow the Princess and make sure she didn't behead herself while playing with the swords in the armoury.


	6. The Casualties of War

Arthur held his breath as he watched Sir Leon wave the torch in his hand as high as he could. Another fire burned through the darkness moments later and the King knew Morgana's man had seen the signal. It would only be a matter of minutes now.

His hand drifted to the bracelet secured at his belt for the umpteenth time, recalling his conversation with Gaius the previous day.

_"What's this?" Arthur asked as the physician presented him with a simple golden bracelet wrapped in a handkerchief. _

_Gaius smiled slightly. "Earlier, you expressed some concern about how you could overpower Morgana if you were to capture her."_

_Arthur nodded slowly. It had in fact been a rather big concern; he knew the battle setting would make Morgana more vulnerable, making it easier for them to catch her unaware. Still, even if they were to render her unconscious and lock her in a cell, she could very easily use magic to escape the moment she regained consciousness. She was the most powerful sorceress in the five kingdoms, after all. _

_"This will help you subdue her," Gaius said calmly, gesturing once more to the piece of jewellery in his hands, "I know it was – and still is – against the rules, but I've kept this magical token for many years, knowing it might prove useful someday."_

_Arthur's eyes widened at the mention of magic. "Are you telling me this bracelet is enchanted?"_

_"Indeed, sire. It was given to me decades ago, long before the days of the Great Purge by a dear friend."_

_Of course, that was a lie; it was Merlin who had enchanted the bracelet only hours ago with his powerful magic but Arthur needn't know that just yet. _

_The King seemed torn between curiosity and apprehension, eyeing the small band with wary eyes. "What does it do?" he finally asked, his tone both careful and sceptical. _

_"It binds a sorcerer's – or in this case, sorceress' – powers," Gaius explained, "Once it is placed on their wrist, they will no longer be able to perform magic. They also cannot remove it themselves; only the person who has clasped the bracelet on their hand holds that power. I thought you might find it very helpful."_

_The idea was very tempting and this little ornament could certainly solve many problems. Still, the thought of using magic…Arthur was rather against such a prospect. _

_His reluctance must have shown on his face because Gaius heaved a deep sigh. "You know that blades and chains will do you no good against Morgana and I know that you also don't wish to kill her. And while the goodness of your heart is admirable, it also leaves you very little other choice; you must fight magic with magic, Arthur. There is no other way."_

_The younger of the two men was silent for a long while, debating. While he knew that the troubles magic had caused both him and his loved ones was of his father's doing, years of living with the notion that it was evil were hard to let go of. _

_"And you give me your word that binding one's powers is its sole purpose?" _

_Gaius nodded with certainty. "You have my word."_

_Breathing in deeply and wondering if he had finally lost the little common sense he had, Arthur took the bracelet from the physician's hands. _

Focusing his attention back to the present, Arthur fought to calm the erratic beating of his heart. He was a mad man for doing this; for risking the very survival of his kingdom in such a way. He could have let Morgana know he'd become aware of her plans and effectively deter her from her intentions; it was what any sensible ruler would have done. But he wanted the threat she represented to be over and he wanted to get rid of Helios; the warlord had not caused trouble to Camelot in the past but he had certainly ravaged many villages and destroyed many lives. Arthur wanted to put an end to it. Still, it was a plan of madness; his father never would have approved. He would have been terribly disappointed that his own son was about to singlehandedly bring the entire kingdom to its knees…

_I trust you, Arthur. More than Uther, more than any man. _

He allowed his eyes to drift shut as the memory of her voice echoed in his mind and he relished in comfort it brought.

_You have to follow what you believe is right. _

This was the right thing to do; he was sure of it. Well, not terribly sure but his instincts told him it was the best decision he could make.

He couldn't help the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth; even when she was miles away, she still brought him reassurance.

The sound of hundreds of thudding steps filled the night air and Arthur knew the time for battle was upon them.

"For the love of Camelot!"

* * *

Gwen, Mithian and Bren spent the last few miles leading to Camelot riding at full speed, having heard the shouts of the clashing armies slice through the dark stillness.

As it turned out, Mithian's persistence had won out. Eventually, Gwen had sided with her, unable to resist the urge to be by her friends' side during the ordeal. The two women seemed to be too much for Bren to handle because he complied with their request, even going as far as acquiring the clothes, weapons and horses they needed for the feat, all without the King and Queen's knowledge.

Camelot's citizens had begun arriving to Nemeth shortly after the King had sent his letter of approval and Gwen had been there to welcome each and every one of them. She eased their minds and made them feel comfortable, soaking in all the information they had for her with an eager ear. She learned that Arthur had allowed very few to stay, mostly those who were meant to help Gaius treat the wounded. The one exception was Delbert; Gwen had felt a sense of pride at learning of her friend's role in the planning of the defences but that sensation was soon replaced by one of dread when she was informed the boy had insisted on staying and participating in the fight. While he may have spent quite a lot of time around weaponry, he was still no trained soldier. Gwen feared his bravery would cost him his head.

They reached the end of the woods and encountered the first fighters. Gwen recognised the colours of both Queen Annis' and King Olaf's kingdoms and was pleased to see both sovereigns had lent Arthur a hand in Camelot's time of need. The allies' Knights seemed to have encircled Helios' savages from all sides, giving them no chance of escape.

The party of three bypassed them all and headed for the citadel, knowing that the heart of the battle would be there.

The courtyard was littered with men - both dead and standing - fighting, shouting and gasping; Bren took the lead and wielded his sword, easily taking down two men a Knight of Camelot was trying to fight off. The latter looked up in surprise and Gwen saw that it was Leon.

"Gwen!" he exclaimed in shock, his eyes growing even wider when he spotted Mithian. "Milady!"

"We're here to help!" Gwen shouted over the commotion and dismounted from her horse, making her two companions follow her example.

Leon looked startled before a grin lit up his face. "Pick your man," he stated simply as he gestured around the courtyard.

"With pleasure," Bren announced as he drew a second sword, swivelling both blades with a slight flick of his wrists. "Stay close to me, Princess," he ordered and Mithian obliged; that had been part of their agreement.

Gwen, on the other hand, was not limited by such restrictions and headed in the direction of the palace. Her small stature allowed her to slip past many men, delivering a few rather clumsy blows to the enemy soldiers here and there. She too may have grown up around swords but she was still no expert.

She made it her mission to find Arthur as she ran past all the blood and screams of agony, finally making it to the throne room. She knew he was there before she saw him; she'd recognise his grunts and shouts anywhere.

The scene came into view and she spotted three different fights taking place. Her brother was clashing swords with a man the size of an ogre, Gwaine was dodging two rather menacing blokes and Arthur…was being sent toppling to the ground by none other than Helios.

Her feet moved instinctively and she held her sword out - ready to strike - and delivered a mighty poke to her beloved's assailant's…backside. Well, at least it had gotten his attention.

Helios yelped in pain and spun around, his blade missing her stomach by no more than an inch as she took a quick step backwards. His eyes widened as he remembered her before his mouth twisted into a cruel grin.

"But what do we have here?" he taunted, advancing toward her slowly, like an animal on the prowl, as she began moving backwards. "You are truly full of surprises, Guinevere."

"Good to know you remember me," she responded with more courage than she truly possessed, noting the hungry look in his eyes. She knew that he didn't intend to harm her like he would another man; he planned to do it in a much more revolting way. She fought the swallow the bile rising in her throat.

"How could I forget such a beauty?"

"And I such a pig?"

He chuckled, appearing to enjoy her antagonism. She knew he was driving her into a corner and gripped her sword tighter, prepared to brandish it at any second.

Such need never arose because Helios suddenly stopped, his back arching in pain before he dropped at her feet, revealing a fuming Elyan as he fell.

"What the hell are you doing here?" her brother demanded furiously. She cast a quick glance to the side and saw Mithian draw her sword out from the impossibly large Southroner's back with an expression of wicked satisfaction. Moving her gaze to the opposite end of the room, she noticed Bren had helped a very surprised Gwaine overpower his two opponents.

She focused her attention back on her brother. "I am here to help."

"And how was getting yourself killed – no, how was getting yourself _raped_ then _killed_ going to help anyone exactly?"

She narrowed her eyes at the tone. "I had a plan," she lied huffily before sidestepping Elyan and running to Arthur's side. Helios must have delivered quite the blow because the King of Camelot was still sprawled across the floor with no apparent intention of getting up anytime soon.

She kneeled next to him carefully and laid a hand on his cheek. "Arthur, can you hear me?" she asked gently, somewhat appeased to see that he wasn't unconscious. His gaze was unfocused and his movements slow but he smiled dreamily at the outlines of her face he could vaguely make out.

"Guinevere," he whispered, her name leaving his lips in a slurred manner.

She smiled at the expression of contentment on his face and gently moved her fingertips over his skin.

"There is a heaven," he said next and Gwen suddenly realised he thought he had died.

"You're not dead, Arthur," she told him softly, but it didn't seem to break his dreamlike state.

"Whatever you say, darling," he humoured her, making her eyes widen slightly. Did he just call her _darling_?

Mithian stood by his legs, observing the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "I assure you, milord," she said loudly enough to make sure he heard her, "you are not dead and this is most certainly _not_ heaven."

Arthur's brows scrunched in confusion. What was Mithian doing here? She had no place in whatever otherworldly plane he had found himself in; he only wanted Guinevere there. Really, what business did she have intruding in – wait a minute…

He sat up a lightning speed, startling Gwen and causing her to retract her hand, subsequently landing on her bum with a yelp.

"Are you insane?" he hollered at the two women, "What were you thinking coming here?"

Mithian helped Gwen get to her feet and both of them now hovered over Arthur who was still seated on the ground, now accompanying his yells of reprimand with furious hand gestures.

"Bloody women, marching into a battle with savages! Do you know what they could have done to you? They have no honour, they would have…roasted you like chickens and eaten you for supper! What were you thinking - "

Bren stared at the blonde man on the ground with shocked eyes. "_This_ is the great King of Camelot?" he asked Elyan who was standing by his side, making the latter bite his lip.

"Well, uh…Arthur never really…how can I put this? He never really acted _normally_ around my sister."

"Oh, you must be Elyan then. It's a pleasure to meet you; Gwen has told me loads about you."

"- playing soldiers like you have any clue what that means? How could you be so irresponsible, putting your lives in danger - "

Elyan cleared his throat. "Sire," he said loudly, commanding Arthur's attention, "I hate to interrupt but I thought it important to remind you that there is still _a battle_ happening out there."

Arthur blinked at the Knight before the words finally reached his mind. He scrambled to his feet after a few rather clumsy attempts and straightened to his full height. "Yes, of course," he agreed, trying to sound like the King he was supposed to be, "We must return to the fight. The two of you," he addressed the women, "are to go to the infirmary and help Gaius if you wish but you are _under no circumstances_ going to return to the battle. Is that understood?"

Both Gwen and Mithian crossed their arms over their chests in identical fashion.

"You can't tell us what we should or should not do," Mithian protested firmly and Gwen backed her up with an emphatic nod, making Arthur sigh in frustration.

"You will be safer there."

"We didn't come here to be safe; we came here to _fight_."

"Don't make me chain you to the infirmary's walls."

Both women gasped in outrage. "You will do no such thing!" Gwen raised her voice, absolutely infuriated by the idea.

Mithian was even more vocal in her protests. "If you dare restrain us, I swear I will feed your manhood to the dogs!"

Bren snorted despite his best efforts to keep the sound from leaving his throat but covered it quickly with a cough. Mithian always tended to lose all notion of propriety when she was angry. Ever the peacemaker, he approached the arguing party.

"Perhaps you should listen to him," he suggested and raised a hand to halt the women's rebuttals when they began to speak, "I am not agreeing because I think you are incapable of wielding a sword; my concern here is that your presence in the battle will be a distraction for the King," he clarified, gesturing vaguely in Arthur's direction. "And the rest of us as well. If we get too distracted by our concerns for your wellbeing, it will hinder our ability to fight."

Gwen and Mithian considered this particular argument and exchanged a look. They seemed to come to an agreement silently and nodded to each other before spinning around and heading towards the infirmary without a word.

"How did you do that?" Arthur asked in wonder, making Bren chuckle slightly.

"It's this little thing, the masses like to call it basic reasoning. I'm Sir Brenner of Nemeth, by the way."

"It's good to meet you, Sir Brenner. I'm Arthur."

"Oh, I know who you are. Believe me."

"Shall we head back outside, then?" Elyan prompted, making the King snap out of his stupor.

"Of course, yes, the battle. Let's go."

* * *

Gaius watched Gwen teach Mithian the basics of treating wounds with a small smile. He had been quite surprised to see them both appear in the crowded room but was happy to delegate the simpler tasks to them.

The battle had been going for several hours but Percival's latest report was a very positive one; most of Helios' men had either died or fled and with the warlord lying on the throne room's floor as well, it was clear that Camelot had been victorious. He had yet to hear any news of Morgana but Merlin had gone to her pursuit and Gaius was confident his young protégé would succeed in overpowering her. Still, there were many injured - as was to be expected - and more were brought in every minute, especially now that the fighting was all but over.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a shout for help from the doorway that immediately commanded his attention.

Arthur, Percival and Bren rushed into the infirmary, carrying a badly injured man with them. Upon closer inspection, Gaius recognised the fallen fighter as Delbert.

As the strongest of the three men, Percival was the one who had the boy in his arms and laid him on a free bed gently as Arthur frantically beckoned the physician to come to Delbert's aid.

Gaius was there immediately and so were Gwen and Mithian.

"Delbert!" Gwen exclaimed as she kneeled on the floor close to her friend's head and took his trembling hand in both of hers.

He looked disconcerted for a moment, his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably as his entire frame shook with rhythmical tremors; when he recognised the voice though, his grimace of pain morphed into a smile. "Gwennie," he mumbled happily, his voice just as shaky and broken as the rest of him, "You're here."

Gwen returned his smile before glancing at Gaius. The physician had been examining the wound on Delbert's leg with a grave expression. The boy's thigh was a mangled mess with most of its flesh gone, exposing the bone beneath; it was no repairable injury.

Gaius' eyes connected with Gwen's and she immediately understood, though it made her chest so heavy it was hard to breathe; Delbert was not going to survive.

"Don't you worry about me, Gwen," the boy said when he saw the way her eyes watered as they lingered on his wound, "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

She swallowed her sob as she faced him again, forcing a small smile on her face for his benefit. "That's good, Del," she told him affectionately, moving one hand to stroke his damp hair soothingly while the other remained clasped in his.

"I…I'm happy I stayed, Gwennie," he struggled to speak as it became nearly impossible to get some air into his lungs, "I'm so happy I stayed."

She nodded in understanding, unable to speak from the lump that had formed in her throat. When his mother and brother had been killed, even after Morgana had been forced to flee and Arthur had returned to Camelot, Delbert had wanted to leave for he didn't wish to live in a place with such painful memories. But Gwen had advised him to stay because a new time was coming with Arthur in command of the kingdom and that new time was going to be one of happiness…and he had listened to her advice.

Tears flowed down her cheeks freely as she squeezed Delbert's hand a little bit tighter. "Sleep now, Del," she said softly after a few moments, "Rest those tired eyes of yours. I'll stay with you."

He made a small sound of acknowledgment and his eyelids began to drop at her soft, cajoling tone. She placed a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her fingers' movements through his hair, lulling him to a sleep he would never wake up from.

Time passed and the unsteady rise and fall of Delbert's chest gradually slowed down until it stopped completely.

Gwen sobbed wretchedly as she felt his hand go completely limp in hers before craning her head over her shoulder to look at Arthur. His eyes were swimming with tears as they connected with hers and it wasn't long before he could no longer bear to look at the tragedy around him; he turned and exited the infirmary, smashing his fist against the wall on his way out.

No one spoke for a time before Gwen finally decided to go after him, unable to resist the urge to offer him some kind of comfort.

Bren followed her movements with watery eyes of his own before turning his attention to the silently crying Mithian. "I'm sorry you had to see this, Princess."

She shook her head sadly. "He was just a boy," she sobbed desolately as she watched Gaius cover Delbert's body with a sheet.

"That boy had more courage than many Knights who were out there today," Bren told her sombrely, "He could have gone with the others to Nemeth but he decided to stay here and fight, even if he had no experience in combat. That shows bravery very little of those who plaster royal emblems on their cloaks possess."

"But he was so young," she lamented, "What kind of monster inflicts such cruelty on an innocent boy?"

Bren had no response to that so he settled for hugging the Princess tightly, hoping to offer her some solace in the face of harsh reality.

* * *

Gwen found Arthur outside, pacing like a caged animal and running his hands through his hair roughly.

"This wasn't your fault," she spoke quietly, her voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances.

His feet's incessant movements stopped at the sound of her voice and he raised his head to look at her with tormented eyes. "How is this not my fault?" he asked agitatedly while his jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to reign in on his emotions, "I _let_ him stay! I…I'm supposed to be the King, I…I should have commanded him to leave, I…"

"He _wanted _to stay and fight," she countered, moving closer to Arthur.

He shook his head. "He was one of my people!" he shouted, pain coating his every word, "I should have protected him! I should have…it was my _duty_ to protect him! But I didn't…I never protected those I should have! The people Morgana executed, Delbert, your father, _you_," he yelled raggedly, his voice faltering at the last word.

"Instead, I protected Morgana, my uncle," he went on, sounding so ashamed of his lapses in judgement, it made Gwen's heart break for him. "My father," he added bitterly, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

Gwen was surprised to hear he sorted Uther in the same category as Morgana and Agravaine; while the late King had certainly not had a place in her heart, Arthur had loved him dearly.

"Your father?" she echoed quietly, making him close his eyes shut to prevent a new onslaught of tears.

"Do you remember when I went to meet with Morgause?" he asked after a while, his own voice having lost in volume, "And what she told me about my mother's death?"

She nodded slowly, recalling the way he had come to her after the events of that dreadful day and told her how Morgause's lies had almost driven him to murder his own father. "I remember. You said she lied about everything."

"She didn't lie," he said through gritted teeth, "My father did."

He chuckled dryly. "I…was born of _magic_."

Gwen's eyes widened at this revelation as a phrase she found very confusing some weeks ago echoed in her mind.

_Even if you do not know it, magic has also brought you joy._

There were few things that had brought her as much joy as Arthur had, even if there was much sadness and disappointment amidst the happiness. Kilgharrah had been right, she realised. Magic had indeed brought her joy.

She had let her eyes fall to the floor as her mind reeled to grasp this new knowledge fully and it was some minutes later that she finally brought her gaze back to his, her chest tightening at the desolation she saw there.

He'd had the same look when he came to her on that awful night, silently seeking reassurance.

"Your father had many faults," she spoke after a while, her tone soothing, "And he made many mistakes, some of which are unforgivable. But for all his sins, he still loved you more than anything. And, as his son, I suppose that's what should matter to you the most."

He clung to her every word desperately, eagerly grasping at any ounce of comfort she might offer him.

"And whether or not you were born of magic is irrelevant," she continued, giving him a small smile, "The only thing that matters is who you have become. And while you do have some _very_ dreadful traits, you're still quite an extraordinary man."

As her words overwhelmed him with gratitude, he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, bury his face in the crook of her neck and stay there forever. He knew she would never allow it, though; she had drawn a very clear line when they had parted some weeks ago. Still, his fingers itched to touch her and his feet began moving him closer to her on their own volition. She seemed to sense this and took a step back, giving him a pointed look. His hand dropped back to his side and the fleeting sensation of inner peace was immediately replaced by the ever-present sadness.

She cleared her throat a little awkwardly. "What of Morgana?" she changed the topic, making him heave a deep sigh before responding.

"She's in the dungeons."

"And how exactly do you plan on _keeping_ her there?" Gwen questioned warily; surely, he knew how easy it would be for Morgana to escape.

"I…may have used a magical item to keep her from using her powers."

She raised an eyebrow as her lips curved into an involuntary smile. "Well, I guess things are changing in Camelot then."

"I suppose they are," he agreed softly, unable to keep his eyes from travelling south of her own and focusing on her smiling lips.

She noticed it and decided it was high time to backpedal out of these dangerous waters. "Uh, I'm sure there are many things you must see to now that the fight is over," she said quickly, "I'll just leave you to it."

She chuckled nervously before making her way back to the infirmary as quickly as she could, leaving a desolate Arthur in her wake.

* * *

The sun began rising in the sky hours after the battle, bringing the first glimmer of light to the new day and with it came the visitors from Nemeth's time to leave. They had to make sure to get back to the kingdom as soon as possible in order to avoid any suspicion from the King and Queen. Mithian had told her parents that she would spend the time before the battle praying in her chambers in order to account for her lack of presence around the palace. The battle was now over and they only needed to make sure to arrive to Nemeth before the news of Camelot's victory did.

Arthur came to the courtyard to see them off, smiling as he noticed Gwen fumbling with the horse's saddle. He had watched her bid her goodbyes to the Knights, Gaius and Merlin earlier and had felt rather disappointed when she didn't see it necessary to give him the same treatment.

He approached her slowly, resisting the urge to laugh as he heard her muttering to the saddle, ordering it to just bend to her will already.

"You never were good with these things," he remarked lightly, causing her to look over her shoulder in an annoyed manner.

"And you never knew how to start a simple fire," she retorted before groaning in despair at the stubborn apparatus she was trying to subdue.

"Let me," he offered some much needed assistance as he came to stand right next to her. She bolted to the side almost immediately, choosing to pet the horse's muzzle rather than be so close to Arthur.

He did his best to hide his disappointment as he began working on securing the saddle. "I never did thank you," he said after a brief silence, "for all your help."

She shrugged it off. "Anyone would have done the same."

"No, they wouldn't have," he retorted, focusing his eyes on his working hands rather than on her, "You risked a great deal coming here to tell me about your findings. Not everyone would be so noble as to try and help me even after I had banished them."

"You're not the only person in Camelot, Arthur," she countered calmly, "I grew up with the people of this kingdom; all of them mean a great deal to me. Even if I did resent you for banishing me, it would not justify knowing so many lives were in peril and doing nothing about it."

He paused in his movements and slowly turned his head sideways to meet her eyes. "Do you?" he asked hesitantly, dreading the answer she might give him, "Resent me, I mean?"

"No," she replied honestly, "I don't resent you. But I would be lying if I said that your actions didn't hurt me. I…I know that, under the circumstances, your sentence was merciful but…you _knew _I had nowhere to go; you knew I would be alone and in danger. And in that moment, you didn't care."

Her words were the absolute truth and he knew it. Shame coursed through him as his gaze once again strayed away from hers. "I'm sorry, Guinevere."

"I know you are," she assured him wistfully, "And I am too…for all the heartache I've caused us both."

He nodded in acknowledgment. "The saddle is ready."

"Thank you," she said with a smile, "You should go and bid Mithian farewell."

He knew the suggestion was Guinevere's own polite way of telling him to get lost so he obliged without a word and joined Mithian who was just making her way down the palace's steps.

"You know, I should be furious with you for having put yourself in such danger," he told her lightly when she came close enough to hear him, "Your father would have my head on a spike."

"Actually, he would tie you to a post and feed you to the crows," she responded in such a serious tone, it made Arthur wonder if she was truly joking or not.

"Then I suppose that's all the more reason for me to be glad that you're alive."

She tilted her head to the side with a small smirk. "You better be glad because if I had not made it out alive, there would be no way for me to invite you to the feast in honour of the anniversary of my birth next month."

His eyebrows rose in surprise at the invitation. He knew the King and Queen of Nemeth always hosted a large feast on their daughter's anniversary and invited most of the nobles from the five kingdoms. Camelot's nobility, however, had always been left out. "I am actually invited this year?"

"You know as well as I that my father was not fond of yours," she reminded him, "But he happens to like you, odd as that may be. And _I_ happen to know that there is a certain person you will get to see, should you come."

His previous smile disappeared as he cast a sideways glance towards Guinevere. "You are quite right, Princess," he said quietly, his eyes not leaving Gwen's form, "But I am not sure that certain person returns the sentiment."

"I am more inclined to think that she is simply better at hiding it than you are."

He smiled at her subtle form of encouragement. "Perhaps," he agreed.

"I will be expecting you at the feast, Arthur," she made sure to phrase her words as a request, knowing he would not be able to deny her; it would be extremely rude to ignore a lady's strong wishes. "I also expect many presents."

* * *

**A/N: I know that the battle scene may not exactly be the kind of epic face-off you expected. The thing is, that battle has been written and rewritten many times already and besides, there is another battle scene I plan on including later in the story. I promised you some warrior-queen!Gwen, did I not? Also, rest assured that there will more to Morgana's story than just rotting in a cell without her powers.**

**Also, the next chapter is where the real, purely Arwen fun begins. And finally, if you thought this was the beginning of the end of this story, you are oh-so-wrong. This story is not even close to being finished. Not by a _loooong_ shot :)**


	7. The Clumsiness of Fluttering Hearts

**A/N: And so the Nemeth shenanigans begin. There should be a total of three chapters dedicated to the events surrounding Mithian's birthday feast and this first one is a bit of a comedic relief, Merlin-style. I mean, you can't really have a Merlin story without some crack-like humour throw into the mix, right?**

**Also, to the guest reviewer who asked about my age and whether or not a particular quote was of my making alone: I am eighteen, turning nineteen in roughly a month and every single word in this fic comes from the overly-active place that is my mind alone. Also, thank you for saying I'm brilliant :)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this update :)**

* * *

The month following the battle was a very tiring one for the King of Camelot. The removal of the fallen fighters' bodies and the reconstruction of the ruined houses and parts of the citadel alone would be enough to drive any man to the edge of sanity but Arthur had even more matters to concern himself with.

The biggest one was, naturally, Morgana. He'd gone to visit her in her rather spacious, isolated cell after she had regained consciousness. He'd tried to talk to her, attempted to make at least a semblance of peace with her; he'd even told her of their father's wrongdoings where magic was concerned and assured her he was beginning to reconsider his views on sorcery. Still, all he received for his efforts was having her spit in his face.

So, he'd left her in the dungeon and the decision weighed heavily on his conscience. She had certainly caused a lot of pain to many and her actions were outright despicable but she was still his sister; what kind of man clasped his own flesh and blood in irons? He feared what his actions spoke of him and the kind of morality he possessed.

Then, there was his uncle. Agravaine had used his own trousers to hang himself the moment he saw Morgana being dragged into a cell of her own. Though he knew he hadn't caused his uncle's death, Arthur still felt guilty and saddened. He also wondered constantly about the reasons behind his family members' betrayal; he couldn't quite figure out where he had gone wrong, what he had done to warrant such hatred from them both.

There was also the question of magic. While he had begun to grasp the idea that not all those with magic were evil, it was still a notion he struggled with. He knew he had to somehow remedy the injustice his father had created and wanted to begin by changing some of Camelot's laws regarding sorcery. For example, the use of magic alone would no longer be on penalty of death; the purposes of the enchantment would be the only determining factors of the sentence. But the issue laid in getting both his council and the people of Camelot to see things his way; after decades of his father's insistence that all magic was the foulest of evils, he doubted anyone in Camelot would be very keen to embrace it. Well, everyone except for Merlin; he seemed rather enthused with the idea for some reason Arthur couldn't quite figure out.

Finally, there was Guinevere. She was on his mind constantly, no matter how hard he tried not to think of her. He still struggled to reconcile his desire to be with her with the knowledge of her betrayal. Despite it all, he was rather excited at the prospect of seeing her at Princess Mithian's anniversary feast. It was probably the one thing he had to look forward to in the foreseeable future.

* * *

Nemeth's royal palace was buzzing with activity due the upcoming feast; nobles began arriving as early as a week before the celebration and each needed to be placed into guest chambers of their own, crowding the castle to its limits. Gwen was more than happy to lend a hand in the preparations though Mithian had ordered her not to overexert herself. When Gwen mostly ignored the orders, Mithian resorted to more underhanded methods, such as giving her the most menial tasks…like having Gwen brush her royal hair twenty times a day, for example.

The party from Camelot was due to arrive the morning of the anniversary day and Mithian insisted Gwen be at her side when she welcomed the King and his entourage.

The scouts announced the approaching party sooner than Gwen expected and she found herself on the palace's steps, standing only a few inches behind the Princess and her parents.

The guests from Camelot appeared in the courtyard with Arthur in the lead. Gwen did her best to keep her expression impassive and her heartbeat steady as she watched him dismount his horse and approach the steps; no matter how hard she tried to deny it, he still made her feel rather flustered whenever she was in his presence.

"Princess," he greeted Mithian first, kissing her hand courteously, "It is a pleasure to see you again. I trust you are excited about tonight's festivities."

"Quite so, milord," she replied, not even bothering to disguise her curiosity as she glanced over his shoulder at the heavy-looking cart Gwaine and Percival where wheeling closer. "Am I right to assume that my _many_ presents are inside that cart?"

He couldn't help but smile at how she emphasised her expectation of numerous gifts. "You are quite right, milady. Although, I do fear Camelot's treasury is now impoverished beyond repair."

She positively beamed. "Excellent."

He shook his head slightly before facing the King and Queen. "Your Majesties," he said with a bow of his head, kissing the Queen's hand like he had her daughter's. The King gave him a slight incline of his head.

"It is quite an honour to finally meet you in person, King Arthur," the older man spoke politely and Arthur was glad to see no residual resentment in his expression.

"The honour is all mine, Your Highness," he assured the other King before finally letting his eyes drift to Guinevere. He had spotted her the moment he entered the courtyard but knew it would highly inappropriate to greet her first rather than the royal family.

"Guinevere," he said, his tone dropping to a softer and more intimate note, making the Queen exchange amused looks with her daughter and husband.

She swallowed convulsively before managing to reply. "Sire."

They stood still after the slightly awkward exchange, neither of them speaking again but unable to break eye contact. Mithian was barely managing to withhold the urge to laugh loudly but was saved from the embarrassment such a reaction would cause by Gwaine when he – improper as ever – marched up to the gathered party at the steps.

"Princess Esmeralda!" he exclaimed joyously and enveloped Gwen in a strong hug before she could even understand what was happening. She yelped in surprise but returned the hug with a smile. Arthur frowned in displeasure.

"Your Majesties," Gwaine then greeted Nemeth's royals as he let go of Gwen but Elyan soon followed his fellow Knight's example and before she knew it, Gwen was receiving hugs from Percival, Leon and Merlin, who had all accompanied Arthur to Nemeth.

Arthur felt rather mortified by his men's unorthodox behaviour but the King and Queen didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was sure he'd heard Mithian's father make a comment about how refreshing their uninhibited behaviour was as they were being led to their guest chambers.

"I think you will really enjoy yourself here, Arthur," Mithian said as she, Gwen and the visitors from Camelot walked down a hallway leading to the quarters assigned to the King of Camelot and his men. "I understand you are good friends with some of the guests."

He nodded. "I am not sure who all the invitees are, but I have seen Lord Godwyn and Princess Elena."

Mithian couldn't contain her grin. "Ah yes, Princess Elena…your _first_ not destined bride."

His face coloured with red blotches at the comment, making him clear his throat uncomfortably and avoid all eye contact with any of his companions. "Yes, uh…that was…well, quite…" he mumbled to the tips of his boots, trying to ignore the snickers that came from behind him.

Gwen rolled her eyes. It was just like Mithian to tease him in such a way.

"She is really quite lovely," the Princess went on, unbothered by Arthur's embarrassment, "She was even so cordial as to accept my invitation to a little group I was suggested to form."

She cast a sly glance in Gwen's direction but the latter didn't return the look; she had enough trouble keeping herself from giggling as it was.

"What kind of group?" Arthur asked warily, feeling like he should dread it for some reason.

"Oh, I'm afraid I cannot say, milord," Mithian responded airily, "It's a little secret between us ladies."

"Right," he said slowly, having the distinct feeling that he was the butt of some kind of joke.

"It's very good to have her here, though," the Princess continued, this time without any hint of teasing, "Aside from my mother and Gwen, she is the only female company I will have during the feast since Queen Annis could not make it," she said wistfully before frowning, "Well, not the _only_ female company but I'd rather not think of the other visiting lady."

"Oh?" Arthur queried curiously; though he admittedly didn't know Mithian that well, he had still never heard her speak of anyone with such distaste.

"The Lady Vivian," she replied with an expression that made it seem like she'd just swallowed something extremely bitter, not noticing the way Arthur's eyes widened in horror, "She is a pest, really. If King Olaf weren't such a good friend of my father's, she _never_ would have been invited."

Some footsteps and a rather shrill voice sounded from around the hallway's corner and Mithian immediately recognised who they belonged to. "Oh great, here she comes now."

Before she could blink, Arthur had hidden behind Percival's large frame. "Do not move an inch," he hissed to the bewildered Knight who took the orders to heart and made sure to block his King from view.

Mithian looked mildly shocked by his actions but her attention was soon commanded by the approaching blonde.

"Where is my Arthur?" Vivian asked, her eyes scanning the gathered crowd impatiently. "I saw him arrive. Where is my love? I must see my love."

Mithian's eyes became as round as a pair of coins at the words. "Your _what_ now?"

"My heart's greatest delight," the other lady went on excitedly, making Arthur bang his forehead against Percival's back repeatedly.

The Princess looked absolutely bewildered and it took her longer than it should have to come up with an answer. "He, uh…I believe I saw him heading for the stables," she lied, "He expressed the desire to tend to his horse personally. Perhaps you should look for him there."

Vivian chirped and clapped in excitement before practically running back in the direction she'd come from, presumably to hunt Arthur down in the stables.

Once she was sure Vivian was out of earshot, Mithian took a step back and looked down at Arthur, who had made himself as small as possible behind his tallest Knight's back.

"Were you going to marry her too?" she asked, sounding rather put off by his apparent promiscuous ways.

"No, no, no, no," he assured adamantly as he straightened his back fully, "We…well, you see, we were enchanted a few years ago. Messy affair…and uh, it seems that she still remains under the enchantment."

"Well, not everyone is so fortunate as to have their one true love kiss them in a tent to break the enchantment," Merlin commented cheekily, enjoying the deep blush that once again crept up Arthur's cheeks.

Gwen shifted uncomfortably as she felt everyone's eyes on her. Even though the Knights – with the exception of maybe Sir Leon – and Mithian didn't know about that particular incident, she was certain it wasn't too hard for them to deduce who this 'one true love' was. She silently cursed Merlin.

An awkward silence reigned for a few moments before Mithian cleared her throat. "Your chambers are on the right of the hallway's end; a servant will be there to greet you. Also, please join us in the banquet room in an hour. We've had the kitchens prepare you a meal since you must be hungry from the long journey."

"Thank you, Princess," Arthur muttered and scurried away, not even daring to glance at Guinevere. His men followed him and it wasn't long before Elyan fell into step with him.

"So, you kissed my sister in a tent?"

Behind them, Mithian slowly turned sideways to face Gwen, arching a single eyebrow. The other woman sighed.

"I will tell you all about it later."

The Princess grinned in contentment. "I do enjoy a good gossip."

* * *

An hour went by quickly and Arthur and his companions were soon summoned to the banquet hall where they were to enjoy a private lunch with the royal family.

Merlin and Gwen stood by the side out of habit but Mithian would not hear of it and insisted they took a seat and helped themselves to the food as well. Merlin was all too happy to agree but Gwen shared little of his enthusiasm…mostly because the Princess had made her settle in a vacant chair right next to Arthur.

She forced a smile as she sat down, trying to look anywhere but towards the pair of blue eyes watching her every move.

"I have been meaning to congratulate you on Camelot's victory," the King of Nemeth spoke between sips of wine, "I must admit I was rather impressed by the way you handled the situation."

Arthur smiled contritely as he tore his eyes away from Guinevere's profile to look at the King. "Thank you, Your Highness," he expressed gratitude at the praise but the feeling of accomplishment wasn't there, "But I hardly think my decisions are worthy of your kind words."

"What do you mean?" the King queried, puzzled by the younger man's self-depreciation.

"I led my men into a battle that could have been avoided," Arthur stated simply, "And quite a few died, including a young lad – almost a boy – who had his entire life ahead of him."

The Knights, Merlin, Mithian, Bren and Gwen cast their eyes downward as they recalled the now late Delbert.

"Then he died with honour," the King replied, still unsure as to why Arthur was so troubled by it all.

"He had honour, that much is for certain," Arthur agreed, "But there was nothing honourable in the way he died."

"Must we speak of such things?" Mithian interjected quietly, unwilling to hear anything more on the topic, "This is supposed to be a day of celebration; I do not wish to spend it discussing such gruesome matters."

"You are right, of course," her father obliged readily, "We shall speak of more joyous things…like the lovely Gwen here, for instance. You were absolutely right, Arthur; my wife and I could not have wished for a better companion for our daughter."

Gwen blushed under the compliment. "You are too kind, Your Highness," she said humbly, sending a fleeting smile in the King's direction before focusing her attention back on the goblet in her hand.

She saw Arthur turning to look at her from the corner of her eye and instantly became unreasonably nervous.

"Are you enjoying yourself here, Guinevere?" he asked softly and she gulped before daring to meet his gaze; it would have been very impolite to keep staring into the depths of her wine when he addressed her.

"I am," she replied in a small voice, cursing the ineptness he tended to bring out of her, "It's been wonderful here."

"I'm glad," he said, his tone just as soft as before, and Gwen felt like she was slowly being set on fire; the longer his eyes stayed on her, the more her skin felt like it was burning.

And was it her imagination or was his face getting closer to hers? And closer…and…

His arm accidentally brushed her shoulder and she jerked in surprise, causing the cup in her hand to tip sideways and its contents to spill directly onto Arthur's trousers.

He froze as she gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her mouth. The entire room stilled too, as everyone waited to see Arthur's reaction.

Gwen reacted before he could gather his wits about him, though. "I'm so sorry, sire," she apologised hastily as she jumped to her feet, grabbing her napkin as she rose.

Arthur felt his face redden in embarrassment and thought things couldn't possibly get more awkward but – to his eternal mortification – Gwen then began dabbing the napkin against his upper thighs, trying to get rid of the excessive liquid.

He was too shocked to react for a few moments but when her frantic ministrations began soliciting a rather dishonourable reaction from his body, he started squirming and batted her hands away hastily.

"It's fine, Guinevere," he muttered, trying to pull his tunic as far down as it would go. Why, oh _why_, had he taken off his chainmail?

Gwen retracted her hands but still refused to let him spend the rest of the meal in this state.

"Well, if you would follow me, I'll wait for you to change and then gather your trousers for washing," she suggested, her face so hot from embarrassment, it felt like even the roots of her hair were on fire.

_Terrible_ idea. "Later," he grumbled, making her brows pull together in confusion.

"But your trousers are all wet…"

"I said later," he hissed, desperate to put an end to her attempts to get him to stand.

The Knights of Camelot, along with Bren and the King of Nemeth, had put the pieces together rather quickly and were now doing their hardest to keep themselves from laughing, some with more success than others; Gwaine had a particularly hard time maintaining his composure and began to twitch rhythmically from bouts of supressed laughter.

It had taken the Queen a little more time to realise what the nature of Arthur's discomfort was but she too had understood; after all, she had caused that same kind of predicament to her husband more than once over the years. She fought the urge to giggle like a little girl.

Gwen and Mithian remained absolutely clueless though, exchanging confused looks as they were completely baffled by Arthur's antics. Bren sunk his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself from snorting like a mad man; he found their innocent confusion to be simply endearing.

Merlin too had been a little slow on the uptake but was – as the fates would have it – right in the middle of a bite when it finally dawned on him. He choked on his food and began coughing furiously, causing Percival to deliver a strong clap to his back in an attempt to help. His efforts paid off but he seemed to have underestimated his strength because the piece of chicken came flying out of Merlin's mouth and across the table, ending its short journey by landing right in the middle of Arthur's forehead.

Merlin instinctively sank a little further down his chair when he saw both his food's final destination and the expression on Arthur's face; he stipulated that, if his master had it his way, he would be in the process of being skinned alive at the moment.

Arthur glared at his manservant furiously as the piece of chicken began sliding further down his face, mentally making a list of all the possible ways he could inflict pain on the clumsy fool.

"Here," he heard Gwen speak from beside him and felt her fingers remove the mangled food from his face before she began cleaning the remnants of Merlin's saliva from his skin with her napkin. Although she had the best intentions, her actions only served to make Arthur's situation even direr as his face was now dangerously close to the front of her dress…and he couldn't help the direction his eyes wandered in.

"Have mercy," he whined in misery and only realised he'd spoken his thoughts aloud when a look of surprise crossed her features. He cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his eyes to his plate, wishing to simply disappear because he could not bear all the embarrassment he had caused himself in a span of just a few minutes.

She set the napkin back onto the table, her cheeks still flaming with utter mortification. "If you will excuse me, I have many chores to attend to," she said with as much dignity as she could gather, curtseying quickly when Mithian excused her with a nod before making her exit as quickly as she could.

Arthur, on the other hand, was still in no condition to flee the premises himself and therefore had to spend some more time in the banquet hall, meticulously avoiding to look anyone in the eye.

* * *

Gwen walked through the castle's corridors aimlessly; her excuse about having chores to accomplish was a complete lie but she had needed a reason to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere of the banquet hall; she simply could not believe her own clumsiness.

Arthur's reactions had also puzzled her; she entertained the idea of asking one of the Knights about it. After all, they had seemed to understand his peculiar behaviour better than she did.

Her restless walk was soon interrupted by Gwaine, Percival and Merlin, who seemed to have materialised before her out of nowhere.

"Gwen, we have to speak with you," Gwaine began gravelly and she immediately grew concerned.

"What is it?" she asked, starting to become alarmed when she took note of their serious expressions. Heavens, she really hoped her clumsiness hadn't caused Arthur some sort of permanent damage…

Gwaine sighed deeply. "I hate to put such a burden on your shoulders, but we must ask you to return to Camelot…for all our sakes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We are not sure how long the kingdom can last with Arthur being in the state that he is."

"What state?" she asked anxiously, starting to believe she really _had _damaged him beyond repair…she wasn't sure how a bit of spilled wine had caused such devastation, though.

"I fear he cannot function without you," Gwaine replied, his sombre tone unwavering, "It has gotten out hand during the past month; it has come to the point where he's started giving Elyan the glad eye because he reminds him of you. It is most unsettling."

"We dread that, one of these days, he will put Elyan in a dress and declare him his Queen," Merlin supplied and Percival nodded emphatically to support this claim.

"Or worse still, that he will start writing songs about you," Gwaine went on, "And then sing them for all of Camelot to hear. Have you ever heard him sing, Gwen? Because, I assure you, hearing him sing is the most gruesome way to die. Our brains will melt and start pouring out of ears and mouths and we will all be doomed. Tell me Gwen, do you want to be Camelot's downfall, huh? Do you?"

She was utterly stunned and bewildered by their words, her eyes going from one man to the other rapidly in her astonishment. Her mouth opened and closed but no words left it. Finally, she simply shook her head and walked away from her clearly insane friends without a word.

"Do you think it worked?" Percival asked as he observed her retreating form.

"Nah, I don't think so," Merlin said, making Gwaine purse his lips in thought.

"We need a new plan, then."

* * *

Gwen made her way to Arthur's chambers with the purpose of retrieving his stained trousers for washing; it was the least she could do after having embarrassed them both the way she had.

She knocked on the door with trepidation and took a deep breath before opening it after he had given her the permission to enter.

As she moved inside the room, she spotted him sitting at the desk and in the process of scrawling something on a piece of parchment.

Despite her attempts to remain rational and not jump to silly conclusions, her friends' previous words echoed in her mind and she couldn't control her impulsive thoughts. "You're not writing any songs about me, are you?" she asked warily, making his eyes lift from the parchment in bewilderment.

"_What_?"

She shook her head quickly with a sigh. "N-nothing," she stuttered, "Forget I said anything."

He nodded slowly, feeling a certain tension settle in the room. "What can I do for you, Guinevere?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible and cursing the unbidden blush that rose in his cheeks.

"Uh, I…I just came to take your trousers for laundering," she managed to say as she began twisting her fingers nervously. She hadn't felt this awkward around him since those unspeakable incidents the escaped goblin had caused some time ago.

"Oh, uh…Merlin will take care of that."

"I insist," she said determinedly, "It's the least I can do after the trouble I caused."

If she only knew just _how much_ trouble she had caused… "Well, I already gave them to Merlin so I suppose you will have to fight him for my trousers if you wish to have them."

His eyes widened as he realised what words had left his mouth. "Not that you would want my trousers so badly," he amended quickly, "That was…it…uh…it didn't sound quite right."

She tried to smile but it only ended up looking like a pained grimace. "Well, I suppose we are just lucky I wasn't drinking some hot, mulled wine," she attempted to joke in order to break the tension. "That would have been unfortunate."

He nodded in agreement; that would have been very unfortunate indeed. "A silver lining."

"Well, I should leave you to your business," she then said with a strained smile, "I will see you at the feast tonight."


	8. The Jealousy of a King

**A/N: First of all, let me apologise for not responding to the reviews I got for the last chapter. I've been running around like some sort of headless chicken for the past week (you may have noticed the week-long gap between updates) and couldn't find the time to sit down and answer all the comments personally. I did read them all and I thank you for the lovely words, they mean the world to me. **

**Also, allow me to answer some of the questions that have been brought up in the reviews here. Rest assured that the bracelet reveal _will_ happen; quite later on in the story but it will happen. Both Gwen and Lancelot's names will be cleared. Morgana will not go into a fit of rage and spill all her wrongdoings until after said reveal has happened - it will sort of be the trigger, if you will. Also, Arthur will go to great lengths to make amends where Gwen in concerned, even if there will be a moment where he will lose all hope (said moment will be addressed in the next chapter). And as for Vivian, the matter of the enchantment she's still under will be resolved at a later point; she may be the most obnoxious person out there but no one deserves to spend their entire life under a spell. **

**And again, I can't thank you enough for all the reviews. I am particularly glad that you have enjoyed my rather outrageous sense of humour in the previous chapter and especially the Queen!Elyan bit; I think he'd make a very pretty Queen, wouldn't you agree?**

**Finally, this chapter is slightly shorter than I had planned. There was supposed to be an additional scene at the end of it but since time for writing has become scarce, I am leaving it for the next update. **

**That all said, enjoy :)**

**P.S. Series 5 premieres tomorrow. Who else is like...unreasonably excited about it?**

* * *

"Is she here?" Arthur asked anxiously as he peered from behind Percival's back. The King of Camelot had made his way down to the feast surrounded by his men from all sides; the human circle around him was his means of protection should the Lady Vivian spot him. He didn't quite know how he would manage to avoid her the entire evening, though; he supposed he would have to get creative.

"I don't see her," Percival said under his breath, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while speaking.

"Perhaps she hasn't arrived yet," Elyan spoke and Arthur immediately cast a wary glance over his shoulder.

"Do you see her coming down the hallway?" he whispered to Leon who had been positioned at the rear. The Knight studied both ends of the hallway meticulously before shaking his head.

"She is not coming this way, sire."

"Maybe she's lying in waiting somewhere, ready to strike," Arthur mused, letting his eyes scan the vast hall for the most obvious hiding places. "Merlin, I want you to check under the tables and behind the tapestries," he ordered, making his manservant sigh. Before he could carry out the orders though, the sound of a throat being cleared commanded everyone's attention.

"What exactly are you doing?" Gwen asked lightly, trying not to smile too widely at their collective absurdity.

Arthur was momentarily deterred from his mission as he caught sight of her; she was dressed in a very fine dress, finer than anything he had ever seen her wear and he was certain this extravagancy was of Mithian's doing; he knew Guinevere's humility stopped her from ever adorning herself with things she perceived to be reserved for those above her standing.

Her brows rose slightly at his rather bedazzled expression and when he offered no answer to her question, she turned her eyes to Percival.

"We are providing protection for the King in case the Lady Vivian attacks," the latter finally offered an explanation and Gwen couldn't help but laugh slightly at their military approach of the situation; Vivian was certainly an annoyance but she would hardly equal a terrifying army.

"I see," she said at length, "Well, you needn't worry about a possible…_attack_ from the Lady Vivian; I fear she is no condition to attend tonight's feast."

The words piqued Arthur's interest. "Oh?"

"It is most unfortunate, really," Gwen said but she didn't seem particularly forlorn because of the lady's indisposition; in fact, she sounded rather amused. "She has developed some sort of rash, you see; very itchy and most unpleasant to the eye."

"And do you know the origin of this rash?" Arthur queried, sensing from Guinevere's demeanour that she might have done something very mischievous to ensure Vivian didn't make an appearance at the feast.

"I'm afraid it's still a mystery," she replied as she bit her lip, "But I _may_ have been asked by the Princess Mithian to…_replace_ the Lady Vivian's beauty tonic with something else entirely."

Arthur's jaw dropped for a moment but he soon began grinning. "Then I must thank you for saving me from a most dreadful foe."

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "You owe a debt of gratitude to the Princess alone; it was her idea entirely. Now, if you would…_stop_ _hiding_ and follow me, I will escort you to your seats."

There were two long tables set for the guests, each on opposite ends of the hall, leaving a rather large space in the middle. One table was meant for the royals while the other was meant for the companions the formers had brought along. Arthur was a little disappointed to be separated from his Knights and – though he would never admit it – Merlin but found comfort in the fact that Guinevere had stayed by the royals' table, standing just behind Mithian's seat.

"I am sorry to hear the Lady Vivian won't be joining us tonight," he told King Olaf who was seated on the table's opposite end, "I do hope her predicament isn't too serious."

Olaf nodded politely but he seemed rather pleased with the idea of his daughter being safely hauled away in her chambers; he probably didn't wish to see her near Arthur any more than Arthur himself did.

"Thank you, Arthur. And the court's physician has assured me her condition is nothing to worry about; she should be fully recovered within two days' time, I was told."

"That is certainly good news," Arthur agreed before feeling Guinevere's presence at his side.

"Wine, sire?" she asked and he simply hated the formal way in which she addressed him; he felt like they had reverted to the earliest days of their relationship and what scared him was the possibility that they might not ever move past that stage again.

"Please," he said as he gestured toward his goblet, feeling his mood starting to become sour.

On the banquet hall's other end, the Knights of Camelot and Merlin had seated themselves around a mildly surprised Bren.

"Gentlemen," the Knight of Nemeth greeted cautiously, wondering why the men seemed so eager to be in his company.

"Sir Brenner," Leon said as he bowed his head slightly, "It's great to see you again."

"Likewise," Bren replied politely but his tone did little to mask his curiosity, "Is there something you wish to speak to me about?"

The Knights and Merlin exchanged looks before nodding as one. "There is a matter we would like to discuss with you, yes," Elyan confirmed, "It concerns my sister."

"What about her?"

"Well, we were…_hoping _you could help us. We have been trying to…uh…get her to…well, not just her, Arthur as well, to…uh…"

Bren arched a single eyebrow as he managed to gather enough from Elyan's jumbled words to understand what they were asking of him. "You wish me to help you bring her and Arthur together once more."

Elyan smiled gratefully. "Precisely."

Bren chuckled before shaking his head. "I'm sorry lads, but what happens between Gwen and Arthur is none of my business," he said, his tone turning slightly reproachful as his eyes wandered from one man to another, "And it is none of yours either."

"We know it may appear as though we are meddling in matters that do not concern us," Leon was quick to assure when he saw Gwaine opening his mouth to protest, "But we care about them both dearly and we know they are not happy without each other."

Bren considered this with pursed lips before slowly setting his goblet down. "You mean _Arthur_ is not happy without _her_," he pointed out, "None of you have seen Gwen in over a month; you have no way of knowing if she has been happy or not without your King."

"I know my sister," Elyan insisted, "She loves Arthur."

"Yes, she does," Bren agreed, seeing no point in denying it, "but does he love her? _Truly_ love her?"

The other men seemed both affronted and utterly confused by the question. "Of course he does."

Bren sighed. "Tell me something," he began after a short pause, "when she was caught kissing another man, did he even _try_ listening to what she had to say? Did he _try_ to understand her actions? Or did he just assume he already had all the answers and believed he was in the right no matter what she told him?"

The others were quiet for a few moments before Merlin finally ventured into breaking the silence. "He knows he was wrong then," the warlock said with certainty, "He regrets the way he treated her every day."

"As he should. Gwen has told me quite a few things about Lancelot, you know; after everything that had happened between, it is only natural she felt overwhelmed when he came back, wouldn't you agree?"

Elyan nodded sombrely. "Yes, I suppose so. The problem is, Arthur has never loved a woman other than my sister; I cannot imagine him being able to understand how she felt at that moment, especially after being so hurt by her betrayal."

"It is as I was saying; he didn't even try to understand her and, because of that, I do not believe he deserves her. I have seen him to be a great leader and a great warrior but I doubt he could ever be the kind of husband Gwen deserves. Also, perhaps you should take Gwen's wishes into consideration instead of just trying to make your King feel less miserable; she left Camelot for a reason," Bren stated with finality before rising from his seat. "Now, if you will excuse me, there is a lovely lady I wish to dance with."

Arthur knew Guinevere was becoming suspicious when he asked her to refill his cup for the fifth time but it was the only way he could think of to get her close to him more frequently. Truthfully, his plan was starting to backfire as he could already feel the wine's effects on his mind and – since he had also resorted to carefully spilling some of his beverage on the floor to get his goblet emptied faster – the puddle at his feet was growing rather large but he had no intention of stopping soon; he was desperate.

"Milady," he heard Bren address Mithian and turned his eyes in their direction; Gwen was standing close by as well, "I was hoping you could relieve Gwen of her duties for a few minutes; it would be a shame for her to spend the evening without enjoying a single dance."

Mithian looked absolutely delighted at the idea. "But of course," she agreed immediately; she had been trying to find a way to get Gwen to have some fun anyway.

Still, Gwen looked unsure. "I don't know, Bren…"

"I insist," he said as he held his hand out to her and she accepted with a sigh, lowering the wine jug to the table before following the Knight to the middle of the room and joining the other people who were already dancing to the minstrels' music.

She wasn't a very accomplished dancer by any means, having only mastered the simplest of steps during her years at court, but Bren didn't seem to mind as he playfully lead her across the floor. She was beginning to enjoy herself, undisturbed by Bren's somewhat outrageous dance moves; he twirled and dipped her without a care in the world and she couldn't help but laugh at the expression of roguish satisfaction on his face.

Arthur, however, was extremely displeased by the sight before him. He had quite liked Sir Brenner upon meeting him in Camelot but his opinion of the man was changing rapidly; who on Earth did he think he was, daring to touch _his_ Guinevere in such a way? Surely, his hand's position on her lower back was a complete violation of the Knights' Code of Honour. And why wasn't she objecting? Why did it seem like she was…_enjoying_ it?

His fingers tightened around his goblet as he realised just how truly content she seemed in Bren's arms…and really, what kind of nickname was Bren anyway? It also didn't escape his notice that it _coincidentally_ rhymed with her own nickname…Bren and Gwen, Gwen and Bren…the new love story of the bloody century!

"I don't see this ending well," Percival commented as his eyes went from the dancing couple to a clearly fuming Arthur; the Knight could almost _see_ the puffs of smoke shooting out from the King's ears.

Gwaine grimaced as he looked at Arthur more closely. "Is his eye twitching?"

The men's own eyes narrowed like those of hawks as they tried to verify the veracity of the observation.

"I think it is, yeah," Merlin said as he watched one of his master's eyelids flutter oddly of its own accord.

"Do you think Brenner is doing it on purpose?" Leon questioned warily, fearing what Arthur might do; he had seen him drink quite the amount of wine, after all.

"Most definitely."

What was it with her and tall, dark-haired and slightly bearded Knights, Arthur wondered as Brenner's physical similarity to Lancelot was not lost on him. She certainly did seem to have a _type_…which, as it happened, he did not fit in the least.

Bren leaned in to whisper something in her ear, making her laugh heartily and Arthur was suddenly on his feet.

"Arthur?" Elena questioned warily as she saw him rise abruptly; she had traded a few amicable words with him during the feast but he had seemed to become rather quiet and brooding after some time.

He jerked at the sound of her voice, noticing that every pair of eyes at the table was on him. With a start, he realised he was now standing; he didn't exactly remember getting up.

He cleared his throat. "If you would excuse me," he muttered before leaving the royal attendees and moving toward the centre of the hall.

Gwen was right in the middle of trying to dissuade Bren from attempting a highly inappropriate – and possibly dangerous – move but her pleas were cut short when another voice reached her ears.

"May I cut in?"

She was startled to see Arthur standing right next to them, glaring at Bren with the intensity of a thousand raging fires. She also noticed that, while his request was _phrased_ politely, his tone was anything but.

Bren seemed undisturbed by the obvious order and simply looked Arthur up and down indifferently. "It will be as Gwen wishes."

"It's fine, Bren," Gwen was quick to assure her friend, not wishing to cause a scene. She could tell Arthur was already not at his most sober and having Bren taunt him would certainly make the situation escalate dangerously.

Bren nodded begrudgingly before allowing Arthur to take his spot as her dance partner and moving away.

One of Arthur's hands automatically went to her waist – at an _appropriate_ height – while his other one clasped one of hers; she slowly rested her other one on his shoulder, disliking the way his eyes kept tracking Bren as he moved away.

She had a good mind to call him on his unnecessary display of possessiveness and jealousy but thought the better of it; she would probably only worsen his mood if she addressed the matter. Instead, she decided to change the course of his thoughts which, she imagined, were probably rather bloodthirsty at the moment.

"Have you been enjoying yourself tonight?" she asked quietly, knowing the topic was menial but unable to think of anything better to discuss.

"It's been pleasant enough," he replied absentmindedly, his head still turned in the direction Bren had taken off to.

"The Princess will be crushed to learn you haven't had a very good time here."

His eyes finally left Bren's back and connected with hers at the words; he gave her a small smile. "She won't know a thing if you don't tell her."

She sighed dramatically. "Well, I suppose I can keep this knowledge to myself…for Mithian's sake, of course."

"Of course," he agreed, his stiff posture beginning to soften at her light teasing and she could swear she felt a certain shift in the air. When he had first taken her hand in his and placed his other one on her waist, he had been moody and distracted; now, however, it seemed his attention was solely on her and it somehow made every point of contact between them tingle.

She saw his eyes drift to her lips briefly and knew she had to steer him away from this particular line of thinking. "I've been meaning to ask you about something," she said quickly, making his eyes snap back to hers in surprise because of the abruptness at which she had spoken. "I know I don't really have any right to this information but if you could, I mean…"

"You can ask me anything, Guinevere," he assured her softly, making her take a deep breath.

"It concerns Morgana," she began cautiously, noticing his eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, "I wish to know how she has been this past month."

He now looked shocked. "You mean to tell me you are actually _concerned_ for her wellbeing?"

"She was my friend once," she reminded him with a small shrug, "And…something happened before I came to Nemeth that's made me believe she still cares about me; somewhere deep down, I know she still cares…even just a little."

"What exactly happened?"

"It doesn't matter," she refused to tell him about how Morgana had almost killed her in the woods; she surmised it would not be wise to bring that incident up in the current situation. "But, as I said, it has made me believe that there is – perhaps – still some hope for her."

He looked stunned by her words but recollected himself quickly. "I have made sure she is as comfortable as can be in her cell," he said after a moment of silence, "But she is so bitter and full hate that…frankly, I don't see her ever changing her views."

"You know that having her locked in a cell will only harden her heart and cement her hatred for us all, don't you?" she queried, making him heave a deep sigh.

"I do know that. But, what else can I do? I won't execute her, that much is for certain, but I also can't simply let her go; even without her magic, she will find ways to attack Camelot again. Speaking to her does not seem to have any effect either…I don't what else to do; I have no idea what to do."

Gwen could see that the matter of his half-sister was upsetting him greatly; she could feel the burden it had all settled on his heart and she felt terrible for making him reminisce it now, since he was already not in the best of moods to begin with.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, "Your night was already not that great and I am only making things worse."

His eyes were still troubled but he smiled nonetheless. "You could never make anything worse."

"You flatter me so."

"You deserve it."

Oh heavens, there it was again…_that_ look. It made blood rush to her cheeks and the most inappropriate thoughts enter her mind. She recalled the feel of his lips on hers, on her cheeks and her temples; she remembered that one time when they had gotten just a bit carried away and his lips had wandered to her neck…and God, had it been the most delightful sensation ever.

Her breathing grew more unsteady as all those memories flooded her mind and she felt him press her body closer to his as he brought their joined hands between them, resting them over his heart. She could feel its speedy rhythm beneath her fingers and smell the scent of wine coming from him as he leaned closer still; it was probably making her drunk as well because, instead of pulling away, she allowed her eyelids to flutter closed as she waited for his lips to meet hers.

Her rational side struggled all the while, screaming at her that there were _reasons_ for their separation; there were _reasons_ that made the idea of kissing him a very bad one. She had betrayed him and though he implied that he had forgiven her, he still didn't trust her like before…his reaction to her dance with Bren was only proof of that. And though she knew she had no right to feel this way, she couldn't help but think – sometimes, when her heart got the better of her – that he too had betrayed _her _in some way; the manner in which he had cast her aside, the loneliness he had condemned her to, the arrangement of marriage he had made with Mithian…it was horrible of her but she couldn't help thinking _Lancelot_ would have never done these things to her. Yes, it was selfish, possibly unfair and highly vain to think this way but she couldn't help it.

"Don't," she whispered and felt his sharp exhale against her skin; his lips hovered over hers for moments on end but finally, after what seemed like countless years to Gwen, he began to pull away.

She dared not look at him and chose to focus her attention on a particularly entrancing piece of the ornate floor.

His hands did not fall away from her but he didn't speak for some time either and she could feel the tension oozing out from his every pore.

"Is it because of Brenner?" he asked suddenly and bitterly, causing her eyes to lift upwards and meet his in affront. She may have betrayed him with Lancelot but she was still not some sort of tramp who went from man to man in the blink of an eye.

"Even if it were because of Bren," she began angrily, "it would not concern you in any way. I don't belong to you anymore, Arthur."

He stilled completely at her angered words, his eyes flashing with hurt momentarily before they hardened in fury.

"You've made that perfectly clear," he hissed as he finally stepped back from her and allowed his hands to leave her body. "Do as you please, Guinevere. Indulge your fickle heart all you want, I don't care."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched him walk back to his table. She looked around nervously, wondering just how many attendees had seen what had transpired between Arthur and her. Fortunately, only a few seemed to have taken notice since many guests were already too enthralled by the festivities to spare a glance to a lonely servant and the King of Camelot.

She found Bren's eyes watching her intently from a corner and as she glanced in his direction, he tilted his head to the side slightly, silently telling her to follow him outside where they could have some privacy. She nodded as she felt a sob build in her throat and crossed the room in hasty strides to join her friend, who then escorted her through one of the servants' entries for a much needed respite.

Seeing this unfold only worsened Arthur's mood, making him order one of the serving boys to fetch him a full jug of wine and leave it on the table for his consumption alone.


	9. The Pain of Broken Hearts

**A/N: Now that series 5 has officially aired, I feel like there are a few things I should point out. I planned this story out in detail before even reading the spoilers for the new series, so this little piece of fiction will not follow the show's canon in any way (except for the obvious Gwen-is-Queen bit, of course). I think some things are bound to coincide with the series but rest assured that, if you are not watching the new episodes as they air, you will be spoiler free. **

**Also, I proofread this chapter with only half of my brain in a functioning state so I apologise in advance for the - most likely - numerous typos ahead.**

**That said, I do hope you enjoy this update :)**

* * *

"I could fetch you some water if you'd like," Bren offered as he rubbed Gwen's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

She smiled gratefully but shook her head. "I'll be fine in a moment," she assured, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. She felt horrible for what she had told Arthur now; perhaps such harsh words were uncalled for. They were also a complete lie; her heart did still belong to and with him, no matter how many miles or walls she put between them.

"What has he done to upset you?" Bren queried, having seen the way the two had almost kissed and the fallout that followed.

"Nothing," she said exasperatedly, dryly chuckling at the absurdity of it all. "I…I am the one who betrayed him, Bren. I betrayed him on the _night before our wedding_! And…and he still wants me!"

She shook her head, trying to clear it of all these confusing and battling emotions and failing quite miserably.

"Am I mad, Bren?" she then questioned as new tears began to shine in her eyes, "Am I mad for refusing him now? What other man would be willing to forgive a sin such as mine? His father would have had me executed for my crime; probably flogged _then_ executed! But Arthur…he wants me back and yet I feel like _I_ am the one who can't trust _him_! It's madness!"

Bren let her finish in silence, allowing her a few moments to recollect herself before speaking. "No one can tell you whether what you feel is wrong or not," he began soothingly, "especially where matters of the heart are concerned. But I do believe you feel this way for a reason…I also have never really cared about what everyone thinks you _are supposed_ to feel; yes, Arthur has been merciful in his punishment but that does not mean he has not wronged you in some way."

She nodded slightly in acknowledgement, letting her eyes drift shut as a long exhale passed her lips; at least someone believed an adulteress had the right to feel hurt too.

"You have one of the purest hearts I have ever seen, Gwen," Bren added after a short silence, "And if such a heart does not deserve forgiveness, then I don't know whose does."

She smiled through her tears. "I think you might be a little biased, Bren."

He shrugged slightly. "Then so be it."

Her smile grew wider in gratitude as she hastily wiped any remnants of her tears away. "We should head back inside. At this point of the feast, every pair of hands is needed."

* * *

Arthur had almost downed half of his jug by the time Guinevere came back into the hall. His eyes narrowed as he watched her exchange smiles with Brenner; in his wine-hazed mind, this only cemented his previous assumptions that the two of them were more than simply friends.

He felt betrayed all over again. And it confused him, because he had never known Guinevere to have such a cruel, volatile heart before seeing her with Lancelot; he had also seen the kindness, wisdom and bravery he had come to love after they had reunited following her banishment. And it was precisely what confused him; how could there be these two completely different sides to her?

When she had told him – after Lancelot had returned to Camelot following Morgana's short reign – that her old flame was in the past, he had believed her. There was always a lingering insecurity, a worry that her old feelings might resurface in his presence but she had never given him reason to doubt her…until the very night before their wedding. The pain and rage upon seeing them had been blinding; he could not see or think of anything other than the devastating knowledge that the one person who mattered to him the most had chosen another. After everything, her heart was Lancelot's more than it was his.

But even after all the pain and crushed dreams, he knew he would still be willing to forsake the whole of Camelot for her to love him the way he loved her.

His eyes followed her as she approached Mithian. "I am sorry to have been gone for so long, milady," he heard her apologise humbly, "Is there anything in particular I should attend to?"

"My jug is in need of a refill," Arthur said loudly before Mithian could speak, causing both women to turn their gazes towards him. While Gwen's eyes were apprehensive, Mithian's were reproachful.

"Your _jug_ is still half full, milord," she pointed out, trying not to let her irritation show.

"It will be empty soon enough," he replied with a shrug, his eyes resting on Gwen. The latter swallowed nervously before curtseying rapidly.

"I will see to it immediately, sire," she said quickly, grabbing the jug with slightly trembling fingers before making her way to the kitchens.

As she weaved her way through the increasingly merry and drunken crowd, Mithian watched Arthur's eyes slowly turn from angry and reproving to melancholic and sad while they tracked her movements through the masses. It made her soften slightly; his behaviour had been appalling at best but she couldn't help but sympathise with him…it could not be easy for him to watch her go, time and time again. He looked like a lost child, unable to find his way out of a maze of fears, insecurities and sorrows his own mind had confined him to; it made Mithian feel something akin to pity.

A loud clang - followed by the sound of a startled yelp - could be heard over the commotion of the feast and the Princess didn't even need to turn her gaze sideways to know it somehow involved Gwen, for Arthur's eyes had narrowed and he was out of his seat instantly.

Gwen exhaled in annoyance as she managed to rise to her feet, picking up the now empty jug from the floor. There had always been a reason for her dislike of this portion of grand celebrations; the seemingly proper and honourable Knights would lose any sense of the values they embodied along with their sobriety and it was usually the servants' job to endure the consequences.

She glared at the man - a Knight of Olaf's kingdom - who had been the cause of her fall, apparently too filled with wine and mead to be able to walk in a straight line. To make matters worse, the wine that was still in the jug she was carrying had spilled all over her dress, ruining the most beautiful piece of clothing Gwen had ever worn. Knight or not, she felt like breaking the drunkard's neck.

"Watch where you're going, stupid girl," he slurred, apparently deeming the incident _her_ fault.

Gwen knew it was not her place to talk back to people of higher ranks than hers but that had never stopped her in the past. She opened her mouth to speak but whatever reprimand she was about to voice was cut short by none other than the King of Camelot himself.

"Apologise to the lady," Arthur ordered and Gwen bit her lip as she took in his appearance. He didn't look all that steady on his feet and his eyes seemed rather glassy and unfocused; she could not see this ending well.

"It's alright, Art-"

"That's no lady," the Knight cut through her attempts of reassurance with a derisive snort. "She's just some clumsy servant. Bedding is all her kind is good for."

The jug hit the floor for the second time as Arthur's fist collided with the offender's face, making the latter join the metal container on the ground with a thud.

Gwen – as well as the rest of the assembled attendees – stood frozen as she watched Arthur move atop the fallen Knight, delivering frenzied and uncoordinated blows to the man's face and chest.

"She…is…a…lady…and…you…will…treat…her…as such!" Arthur roared in between punches, feeling as though his entire soul was being consumed by a fire of rage; waves of supressed anger, confusion and hurt rolled off body and crashed against the man below, rendering his face bloody.

And it felt _good_; it felt like a release of so many emotions he could not – or did not know how to – put into words. Arthur let it all pour out of him; his relatives' treachery, his father's deception, the suffering that had been infected upon those with magic, his failings as a sovereign, Guinevere and Lancelot's betrayal…it all seemed to mould into this unfamiliar man's features and Arthur was determined to beat the pain away, one enraged pounding of his fists at a time.

Women screamed and gasped as Gwen shouted frantically for him to stop, though there wasn't much she could do to tear him away from his prey. That task rested on Percival's shoulders as the Knight seemed to be the only one physically fit enough to match Arthur's wine-fuelled strength at the moment.

He grabbed his King by the arms, grunting as Arthur struggled. The latter fought his friend's restraining grip, doing everything in his power to break free in order to finish the job he'd started.

"Stop!" Gwen shouted once more as she came to stand in front of him, laying her hand over his violently beating heart. "Please stop, Arthur. Please," she begged as tears began gathering in her eyes; the only time she had seen him in a similar state had been on the night he had caught her with Lancelot.

His eyes were wild as they met hers and she could see the water pooling at their corners, making her bite back a sob. She dared not speak as he the rapid rise and fall of his chest gradually slowed down and his tightly-coiled muscles relaxed, causing Percival to ease the hold he had on him.

His gaze never strayed from hers and while she couldn't even begin to imagine what went on in his head, his bright eyes spoke of his heart and Gwen could see nothing but sadness and despair in their depths.

After long moments of silence, Arthur let out a shaky breath and shrugged Percival's hands off. He cast one last look at Gwen before making his way out of the banquet hall, not addressing anyone on his way out.

Gwen watched him go and allowed herself to sigh deeply before turning to face the royal family. The Princess and her parents were close by, having left their seats in midst of the chaos Arthur had caused.

"I…I am so terribly sorry about this, Your Majesties," Gwen apologised while her lower lip wobbled slightly.

"You are not to blame here, Gwen," the Queen was quick to reassure and the King nodded to support his wife's words.

"King Olaf," the King of Nemeth called out to his old friend, who had been standing near his bloodied Knight, "I believe we should discuss this matter privately."

The other sovereign nodded as he looked down at his man with distaste. "Of course."

"I should attend to Arthur," Merlin spoke next and began to leave but Mithian's voice stopped him.

"I don't think it wise, Merlin," she said sombrely, "You may end up losing your head."

"And don't I know it," he mumbled, dreading the moment he would have to start dodging heavy objects flying toward his head. Actually, given the state of his master, it would probably be knives coming at him rather than simple cutlery or boots.

"Perhaps I should go," Gwen offered, wishing to save her dear friend from a possible decapitation.

Mithian nodded her approval, making Gwen curtsey quickly and leave the hall in search of Arthur; she supposed his guest chambers would be the best place to look…unless his inebriation had caused him to get lost in the castle, of course.

The King waited for her to exit before addressing the crowd. "Please, do resume the festivities," he said encouragingly, "There is no reason for this incident to put an end to the feast."

The guests obeyed and slowly began returning to their previous activities as the minstrels picked up their instruments once more.

"Take this man to the physician," Mithian's father then asked of Bren, who bowed courteously in compliance before dragging the fallen Knight to his feet and practically carrying him out of the hall. "Now Olaf, if you please," the King then addressed his fellow sovereign, gesturing toward a small door leading to a separate set of council chambers; it should give them enough privacy to discuss this unfortunate matter between them.

The Princess was the first to speak as her father closed the door of the chamber behind them. "I demand your Knight be punished for his callous actions," she spoke heatedly, looking Olaf straight in the eye.

He sighed. "I have known Arthur to be fair and honourable and I do not believe he would attack my man in such a way for no reason," Olaf began, obviously trying to appease the Princess, "but the girl he pushed is still just a servant; there is really no crime to speak of that could warrant any sort of punishment."

The words only seemed to enrage Mithian further. "He did more than _just_ push her; he _insulted_ her," she protested, "Servant or not, no man of honour should ever address a woman in such a crude way."

"I must agree with my daughter," the Queen joined the conversation, looking as determined as Mithian to make the Knight pay for his actions, "Some women, like your own daughter, are lucky to be born into nobility; Gwen has had no such luck. But that does not mean she should be treated with anything other than respect."

"I understand your meaning," Olaf assured them, "But, as King, there are laws I must follow and there is nothing in my laws that allows me to punish my man."

"You are a guest of _my_ kingdom, Olaf," Mithian's father reminded him, "I believe it is _my laws_ you are to abide to during your stay here."

"And is there anything in _your _laws that allows for punishment to a Knight for mistreating a servant?" Olaf countered sceptically.

"I am the King; my _word_ is the law," the other man replied simply. "Tell me Olaf, would you regard this situation differently if Gwen had been here as Arthur's bride rather than my daughter's handmaiden?"

Olaf's eyes widened at the words as he realised who this servant truly was; he had heard stories of the serving girl Arthur had wished to marry, raising quite a few eyebrows in royal circles. The wedding had never come to pass but this information certainly explained why Arthur had taken his man's behaviour so personally.

"If she had been here as Arthur's bride, this incident would never have occurred."

"Perhaps," Mithian agreed, "but it should make you see that her circumstances could have been very different."

"But they _are_ not."

"Very well, then. Allow me to be very clear: Gwen is my handmaiden and therefore benefits from my _personal_ protection. Furthermore, I consider her my dearest friend; I would see it as a personal offense to _me_ if your Knight's actions were to go unpunished."

Olaf sighed again; he could not ignore a Princess' wishes. In the eyes of the law, she was far above any Knight and her desires were therefore the ones that needed to be complied with.

"Then he will receive punishment once we return home. You have my word."

* * *

Gwen approached Arthur's appointed chambers with a sense of trepidation; she dreaded the state she would find him in. She walked up to the open door carefully, casting a furtive glance around the room.

Arthur's rage seemed to have followed him after he had left the hall because parchments and ink bottles littered the floor of his chamber, while chairs and other small furniture had been turned over; he had made quite the mess.

He was now resting against the desk with his palms splayed out on the smooth surface; he had apparently calmed down somewhat but his breathing was still unsteady.

"I came to see if you needed anything," she spoke quietly, watching as his back stiffened.

"You are not willing to give me what I need," he replied after a moment's silence, making her sigh deeply.

"I know I am denying you what you wish for," she said as steadily as she could, "and for that, I am sorry. But you have to understand that – "

"What I understand," he cut through her words as he whirled around to face her, "is that you - _you_ of all people - betrayed me with a man I considered my brother. What I understand is that you're already replacing the poor fool with another."

She shook her head sadly. "If you could look past your jealousy, you would see that Bren and I are only friends."

"Oh yes, you seemed _very_ friendly indeed."

"I have been insulted enough for one evening, Arthur."

"Since when has the truth equalled an insult?"

Her lips pressed together as she tried to control her temper; she knew he had a habit of lashing out when his own mood was sour but she really didn't know how long her patience could last.

"Believe what you want," she told him resignedly, "I did not come here to argue. I only wished to see if you have any injuries that need attending to or - "

His fist banged against the desk loudly. "You are so infuriating!" he bellowed, "Always so proper, so kind, so nice…and then you betray me in the vilest of ways on the _very night_ before I was to make you my Queen!"

She froze as she listened to him yell, almost not daring to as much as breathe as she watched him come closer, shouting about how cruelly she had broken his heart all the while.

"I know!" she yelled back when she could not bear to stay silent any longer. "I _know_ I caused you a great deal of pain! You needn't remind me of it daily for my conscience does a fine job of it on its own! Why must you make us both relive our misery every time we speak?"

"Because I can't forget you!" he admitted as he finally breached the little distance that was left between them and took her face in his hands. "You are all I think about, all I dream about. I would give up my entire kingdom if it only meant I could have you by my side."

"Arthur, I - "

His mouth swallowed whatever words she was about to speak as his lips met hers; she gasped under the unexpected kiss, feeling one of his hands move away from her face and encircle her waist, pulling her closer to him. His other one came to rest at the base of her neck, allowing him to press his lips against hers more firmly still. Her head began to spin under the kiss' intensity; he seemed to be hungry for the taste of her, if the ardour with which he made her lips ply under his was anything to go by.

She knew it was in her best interest to pull away but the feeling of his flesh and tongue was intoxicating; she had missed his touch for so many months, remembered the sensation on her skin night after night. Still, it would be wrong to let herself get lost in the feeling.

She tore her mouth away in order to protest but his lips followed hers blindly, unwilling to relinquish them just yet. She capitulated then, allowing him to kiss her until he was satisfied and foolishly hoping it would never end.

"Come back to Camelot with me," he breathed against her skin, prying his lips away from hers but letting them hover less than an inch away, "Come back with me and I will forget everything that's happened; I promise."

She inhaled sharply as she kept her eyes closed, feeling new tears gather behind the darkness of her eyelids. God knew she wanted to believe him…but she was no longer naïve enough to think such happy endings possible.

"You can't promise me that," she whispered sadly, "I know you want to and I know you would be willing to make such a promise; but you will never be able to keep it. And I don't want to make you break your word."

He pulled away slightly and she finally dared to open her eyes and glance up at him; his brows were drawn together in confusion while his eyes displayed incredulity.

"You will never be able to trust me again," she clarified, wanting to make sure he did not think she believed him to be a man incapable of keeping his word, "Everything you have told me tonight only proves it."

He took a few steps backwards and she braced herself for whatever he was about to say when she saw his expression was laced with anger once more.

"You're rejecting me again…how many times is that by now, Guinevere?"

"Arthur…"

"I wonder if you would be treating me the same were I more like Lancelot; you certainly didn't seem to be able to deny that bastard anything."

"Do not insult him!" she exclaimed in outrage, "He was the most honourable, noble man I knew."

"Well, his nobility and honour had a tendency to disappear around you, didn't they?"

"His only sin was loving me," she said as she gritted her teeth, "He loved me more than he should have and it was his downfall."

Arthur pursed his lips as he felt a twinge of shame worm through his chest; he knew Lancelot had been a man of honour and courage, in all ways but one. And it was a way Arthur understood all too well; no code of chivalry could trump the love of Guinevere. It was shameful to call a man who had sacrificed himself for him a bastard.

"And you loved him," he stated sadly after a momentary silence, "I don't understand you. He left you behind – _twice_ – and you still cared more for him than you cared for me."

"He left me because he was too noble for his own good," she retorted, "And because he wished for me to find happiness in love; the kind of love he knew I could never feel for him."

He scoffed at the words, obviously not believing them to be the truth.

"You say my heart is fickle, Arthur," she began after he seemed to have no response, "but so is yours. Lancelot was not the only one to leave me behind; you did the same. I am not talking about the times you cast me aside because of your father's disapproval," she added when she saw him open his mouth; she knew what argument he would present her with. "I am talking about the times after _you_ became King. One word from your uncle was enough to make you leave me after you had _promised _me – year after year – that things would be different once you were King. "

His eyes widened and it was obvious from his expression that he had never actually taken this particular side of things into consideration.

"Then you changed your mind," she went on, "You wanted me back…and I accepted. Months passed and I betrayed you; you said you never wished to see me again…but here you are, wanting to take me back once more. So who's to say that you won't change your mind again? Can you guarantee that your doubts will not get the better of you? That you will not see every man I speak to as a possible lover?"

His eyes went to the floor and she had her answer.

"I love you, Arthur. I truly do. But I cannot subject myself to your heart's whims again," she said regretfully, blinking back a few stray tears. "My shame is for me to bear for the rest of my days; all I ask is that you please let me do so in peace."

She didn't give him a chance to respond as she made her way toward the door, pausing just as she was about to exit. "I will send Merlin to tend to any injuries you might have," she spoke quietly before disappearing out of sight.

Her words replayed over and over in Arthur's head after her departure. They echoed time and time again in his now less clouded mind and he finally understood.

* * *

The sun rose in the morning and Arthur found himself facing Nemeth's royal family, preparing to apologise for his abominable behaviour during the feast. Now that the wine no longer reigned over his mind, he really couldn't quite believe his actions.

"Your Majesties," he addressed the three, "there are hardly words that can express the shame I feel over my actions. You have invited me to your kingdom and I have disrespected you in the most dreadful way; I assure you that I deeply regret the way I behaved. I only hope that you can forgive me for causing such a scene."

"It was certainly not a display fit for a King," the Queen remarked dryly, "but you had reason to be upset. Olaf's man treated Gwen appallingly."

Arthur sighed wistfully. "As have I, Your Highness."

"Perhaps you should make amends," Mithian proposed, though her words sounded more like an order than a suggestion. Gwen had been very distraught the previous evening when Mithian had found her after the feast but had refused to speak about the reasons for her distress. Still, the Princess knew Arthur had been the cause.

He nodded. "I will," he assured her, "I will do something I should have done a long time ago."

"And what might that be?"

"Comply with her wishes."

* * *

After a little wandering through the castle and a few odd looks from nobles and servants alike, Arthur finally found himself in the laundry room, where Mithian had told him Gwen would be.

Her back was turned to him as he crossed the threshold and he allowed himself to smile for a moment, admiring the delicate way in which she folded the newly washed sheets. She may forever maintain that she was simply a servant but she had the mannerisms worthy of the noblest of ladies.

"I was told I could find you here," he spoke lowly as he didn't wish to frighten her with his presence. Her entire body stiffened nevertheless as her folding routine came to a sudden halt.

"You don't have to say anything," he added quickly, "Or even face me, for that matter. Actually, it will probably be easier for me to say this if you don't."

He waited for her reaction but when she made no movement and spoke no words whatsoever, he went on. "I…I wanted to apologise for everything I've said last night. Many of my words and actions were uncalled for. I also…I also want you to know that I understand now."

He paused there, letting a deep breath seep into his lungs before proceeding. He had always prided himself as being a man of honour and nobility but what he was about to say cost him more courage than going into many battles; he finally knew how Lancelot had felt.

"I understand why you chose him," he managed to get the words past his lips by sheer power of will, "Lancelot was a better man than I. He put you before his own needs and desires…something I have failed to do miserably. And…he was _easier_ to love, I can see that now. He was kind and noble and fair and I…I am arrogant and uh…whimsical and insecure. You deserve better than me, Guinevere."

She willed herself not to make a sound as she listened to him speak. There was a certain foreboding behind his words and tone that made her chest tighten.

"Perhaps I can learn from Lancelot," he continued, "Perhaps I can be as noble as he was. So, I give you my word that I will not bother you again. You wish to be free of me and I have no right to deny you that. So, I…I will let you go and…and I will not seek you out again."

It had taken him every ounce of willpower to make the words leave his mouth; it pained him to do so but he knew that, for once, he was doing right by her.

"Goodbye, Guinevere," he whispered farewell but still she did not turn or speak and it was probably for the best; he wasn't very eager to let her see the salty droplets that had glazed over his eyes.

She waited until she could no longer hear the sound of his retreating footsteps before allowing a sob to bubble forth from her throat. That small sound of pain was soon followed by more than she could count and she found herself weeping as she brought a hand to her mouth in vain hopes of keeping the sobs contained.

She should be glad of this; it was what she had wanted after all. She had left Camelot to be away from him, she had denied every advance he had made toward her since, had made it clear she did not wish to be his wife. This was what she had _wanted_…but instead of feeling relieved or content, she only felt devastatingly heartbroken.


	10. The Ways of Destiny

**A/N: This update is a bit shorter than usual and not really action-packed but there a few details that were necessary to set in place for the rest of the story. **

**Also, I'm quite certain there is an abundance of errors, typos and poor sentence constructions ahead; I can officially confirm that sleep deprivation messes with your head.**

**Anyway, enjoy :)**

* * *

When she had not seen or heard from Gwen well after midday, Mithian grew concerned. Camelot's party had left Nemeth sometime during the morning but Gwen had not been there to see them off, something the Knights and Merlin found to be very odd. Still, they needed only glance at Arthur's expression to know that he had been the reason for her absence.

Mithian bid them all farewell and went about her day, wishing to give Gwen some time to herself. But when her friend was still nowhere to be found hours later, she and Bren went to search for her. As they could not find her anywhere in the castle, courtyard or town, they ventured toward the small forest that stretched along the city's northern side.

The Princess breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted her sitting on the ground next to a small stream with her knees drawn to her chest.

The sound of crunching leaves alerted Gwen to the fact that she was no longer alone and she turned around sharply to see who the intruders were; her stiff shoulders relaxed when she recognised who they were.

"Have you been here all day?" Mithian asked with concern, "I was beginning to worry about you."

"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble, milady," Gwen spoke quietly, a subdued sniffle cutting through her words.

"None of that nonsense, please," Mithian chastised as she lowered herself to the ground next to her friend. Bren followed her example silently, settling on Gwen's other side. "I am your friend, Gwen," the Princess went on gently, resting a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder, "I understand if you don't wish to share your troubles, but I am still willing to listen if you want me to. We both are," she added as she gestured toward Bren, who nodded in agreement.

Gwen's cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes glossy as they went from the Princess to the Knight before finally settling on the small body of water at her feet. "He's letting me go," she finally said, keeping her voice low as she feared it would break if she dared to speak any louder. "He gave me his word that he will not bother or seek me out again…that he will never ask me to be his Queen again."

Mithian and Bren exchanged looks at this piece of information; it had come as a surprise for both.

"I thought it was what you wanted," Bren ventured cautiously, remembering all the conversations he'd had with Gwen on the subject, "You said many times you wished to leave your past with him behind."

She nodded vehemently. "I know," she whispered as her voice shook with emotion, "I…thought it was what I wanted. I was sure of it…but I…"

Her words faltered as a sob broke through and she drew a noisy breath in, furious with herself for breaking down in such a fashion.

"After he turned around and left, all I wanted was to scream at him to come back," she admitted tearfully before burying her face in her hands.

"I suppose realising it was truly over was harder than you thought it would be," Bren offered an explanation for her confused feelings but Gwen found little consolation in the words; she only sobbed harder.

"I never wanted this," she spoke through her tears and hiccups, "to cause the death of an honourable man and break the heart of another! I…I only wished for a simple and happy life and now…how did I become this sort of woman? How did I become so cruel and fickle and treacherous and - "

"You are none of those things," Mithian asserted firmly, "No matter what others or even _you_ may think, I have seen you to be good and kind and brave…perhaps – in time – you will come to see yourself that way as well."

"But I betrayed Arthur," she objected, "I sent Lancelot to his death…_twice_! How can I claim to be all those things you think me to be after that?"

"Because you regret it," Bren stated simply, "I have seen you shed countless tears over the events you say to have caused with my own eyes; a woman of cruel intentions and no morals would not feel pained by it as you do. That is enough to convince me that your heart is pure and good."

Gwen was not fully convinced by his reasoning but appreciated the words of reassurance nonetheless. "Thank you," she expressed her gratitude as she took hasty wipes at her wet cheeks.

Silence settled between the three for a long time, as Gwen worked on calming herself down.

"Gwen?" Mithian broke the quietness first and as her handmaiden looked at her, she noticed the Princess was sporting an odd expression, one Gwen couldn't quite decipher.

"Yes, milady?"

Mithian momentarily rolled her eyes at the unnecessary formality but her face grew serious again almost immediately. "Does this mean there is truly no more hope for you and Arthur?"

Gwen's forehead creased slightly in confusion; the Princess appeared to be quite saddened by the idea of her and Arthur being away from each other for the rest of their lives.

"I believe it does," Gwen responded quietly, if not a little hesitantly; Mithian's question had certainly taken her by surprise. "You seem…well, rather upset by this."

A shadow of a smile crossed Mithian's features at the comment. "I would lying if I claimed otherwise," the Princess admitted wistfully as her eyes left Gwen's and focused on the stream instead. "I had hoped – perhaps foolishly – that the two of you would be reunited."

"You will forgive me for being so blunt, but why on Earth would you be so interested in the subject?" Gwen couldn't help but ask, her curiosity piqued by the Princess' words.

Mithian shrugged slightly. "I have grown up in a world where marriage is a matter of convenience and true love is only found in books my parents would flog me for reading," she began with a rueful smile as she toyed with a small twig she had picked up from the ground, "I had come to believe it was impossible for someone of my standing to marry for a love that is not forced; even my parents had entered their marriage as strangers…even today, the affections they hold for each other are more akin to friendship than anything else. But then I was sent to Camelot to marry Arthur and I heard him speak of you."

Her eyes drew back to Gwen's astonished ones. "He told me of a blacksmith's daughter who mattered to him more than his own life and certainly more than his kingship and kingdom, for those were worth nothing to him without her."

Gwen felt her eyes filling with tears at this revelation. "He told you this?"

"Indeed he did," Mithian affirmed with a nod, "And in doing so, he made me believe that maybe there is such a thing as a union born of love in royal circles…that maybe a kingdom's strength can be measured by that of the sovereigns' bond rather than that of their political alliance. It is why I was so hopeful for you and Arthur; I refused to believe the fates would be against such a union."

"The fates have never been in our favour."

Mithian smiled sadly. "It would appear not."

Bren listened to the conversation without intervening, though he noticed it was beginning to bring Gwen to the brink of tears and despair again. He refused to let that happen and got to his feet, searching the ground for a few moments before returning with two long lumps of wood. He presented one to Gwen who eyed the object warily.

"What's this for?"

"For fighting, of course," he replied nonchalantly before sighing as Gwen's eyes widened in shock. "Do you know what I did when I learned Haelan had been killed?" he asked and waited for her to shake her head before proceeding. "I picked up my sword and went to the fields, fighting both men and trees, until my hands were bloodied and every bone in my body ached. It may not have taken the pain away but it certainly made me feel better."

"You want me to render my hands bloody and make all of my bones ache?" she questioned, though she knew what his meaning was; the physical exertion fighting offered would be an outlet for her emotions.

"Well, perhaps a few broken nails and pulled muscles will suffice," he conceded with a smile, allowing it to grow wider as she took hold of the makeshift weapon he had presented her with. "Also, your fighting skills are in dire need of improvement; if I were a blacksmith's daughter, I'd be ashamed of the clumsiness with which I've seen you wield a sword."

She laughed genuinely at that, hitting him with her stick lightly as a form of reprimand.

Mithian watched as they clashed their improvised blades, the intensity of their movements growing with each passing second. She also saw how it benefited Gwen; while she gasped and cried and even screamed, she also seemed to be letting some of her heartache go along with the sounds and for that, the Princess was glad.

And even if Gwen appeared to have lost all hope, Mithian refused to do the same. She was no foolish dreamer by any means but she still believed that perhaps - one day - those devious fates that had kept them apart would see the wrong in their ways and grant Arthur and Guinevere another chance.

* * *

Merlin waited for all the Knights to settle down against trees of their choosing before making his way to Arthur. They had set camp for the night and were to continue their journey back to Camelot in the morning. The men seemed very grateful for the respite and had eagerly jumped at the opportunity to get a few hours of sleep. Arthur, however, appeared to share little of their enthusiasm.

He had seated himself by a lone fire little ways downwind from the others, something the Knights clearly interpreted as an unspoken request to be left alone. Unfortunately for the King of Camelot, Merlin had never cared much for the orders he was given.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" the warlock commented lightly as he sat next to Arthur on the ground, causing the latter to look at him warily. "No clouds to cover the sky, every star shining brightly through the darkness…such a romantic sight."

"I'm not kissing you, Merlin," Arthur grumbled, reverting back to staring at the fire with a forlorn expression.

His manservant sighed dramatically. "Oh, but I had such high hopes…"

Arthur chuckled despite of himself; his idiot of a friend always seemed to have a way to cheer him up.

"She doesn't wish to be with me again, Merlin," he admitted after a few minutes of silence.

The warlock's previously light expression turned serious at the words. "Maybe she will change her mind," he offered with sympathy, knowing for a fact that there were few things that could upset Arthur more than the idea of never being with Gwen again.

His master appeared to be very doubtful of this possibility. "She has made it clear that she will not reconsider," he said resignedly, "And I must honour her wishes."

Merlin stared at him in disbelief. "So, you're just giving up?"

Arthur exhaled in annoyance. "Well, what would you have me do, Merlin?" he questioned, his voice gaining in volume slightly, "Bother her day after day until she no longer feels nothing but resentment for me? There is nothing I wish for more than to make her my wife but I _will not_ make her feel forced to marry me!"

Merlin raised his hands in surrender, realising it was probably best to drop the subject, especially since he could already see the beginnings of tears forming in Arthur's eyes. He also didn't want to draw the Knights' attention to them.

Arthur glared at his manservant for a moment before taking a deep breath and averting his gaze.

"Leave me alone, Merlin," he commanded quietly and the warlock decided to oblige for the time being; he was about to give up, though.

* * *

A week had gone by since Arthur's departure from Nemeth but Gwen's chest failed to feel any lighter as time passed. She had thought the heartache would ease with each hour that passed but it appeared she had been mistaken; the sun's daily cycles only seemed to worsen her pain.

Bren had offered to take her to the grounds beyond the castle to fight every time she desired and she had gladly accepted; after their first session on the morning Arthur had left, she had come to realise that such fighting activity did indeed seem to help her…in some obscure, bizarre way she couldn't quite put her finger on.

But the alleviation those fighting sessions provided was short-lived and as soon as her attention was not otherwise occupied, her thoughts would drift to Arthur and Camelot. She was at war with her own heart, for it seemed reluctant to see the decision she had made was the right one. There was too much bad blood between them, too many broken bonds that neither of them knew how to repair; her mind knew that. Her heart, on the other hand, seemed to have made it its mission to remind her – every minute of every day – that it longed for Arthur and his love. She wished she could make her stupid heart shut up already.

It was her heart's incessant chatter that had driven her to leave the castle that night and seek more quiet surroundings; isolation would allow it to prattle away without having anyone see its distress show on her face.

She sat on the cold grass wearily as she gazed toward the heavens, wondering – for the umpteenth time – how she had allowed herself to be brought to this mess.

She stared at the stars aimlessly and it took her longer than it should have to realise they were becoming obscured by a heavy body slicing through the sky.

She almost smiled as it touched the ground with more grace that she thought it possible of.

"Where are you taking me to this time, Kilgharrah?" she asked quietly as she craned her head upwards to meet the dragon's eyes.

"I have not come to take you anywhere, Guinevere," he said as his head lowered slightly to be closer to hers, "The young warlock is concerned; he wishes to know if there is anything he can do for you."

Her smile grew wider at the unknown warlock's apparent concern for her wellbeing. "His thoughtfulness is much appreciated but I doubt there is anything he can do."

"His influence reaches far."

"Can it reach my heart and command it to silence?"

The dragon tipped his head slightly at both her words and the slight tremble of anguish in her voice. "What troubles you, young Guinevere?"

She sighed at the question. "So many things, Kilgharrah. So very many things."

She couldn't be quite sure, but it seemed like her words made him slightly uncomfortable. "I am not very well-versed in matters of human emotions," he admitted, making a choked little bubble of laughter leave her throat.

She observed him with slightly bleary eyes before her expression turned thoughtful. "There is something you could help me with," she spoke after a few moments, "Something I wish to know about."

He nodded, prompting her to proceed with her question. She took a deep breath as she summoned her courage. This question had been nagging her for a week now, a little voice in the back of her mind that would not give her rest. She believed it was incredibly presumptuous of her to even entertain the idea that had formed in the far recesses of her mind but, as it would not give her peace, she had to ask.

"You told me we all have our destiny," she began as she forced her voice not to waver, "including me. Can you tell me what it is?"

He seemed rather reluctant to share this information with her. "Are you certain you wish to know? It is not always wise for one to know their destiny."

"I'm certain," she affirmed with determination, feeling as her heart rattled violently against her ribcage.

"Very well," Kilgharrah obliged and straightened slightly before revealing what he knew. "As Arthur is the Once and Future King, you are the Once and Future Queen. You will rule Camelot by his side as he unites the lands of Albion and brings peace to the kingdoms. You will be there to witness him become the greatest King the world has ever known."

She felt all the air being sucked out of her lungs at the revelation. After remembering what Morgana had told her when they had met in the woods and Kilgharrah's cryptic words during their first meeting, a small part of her had come to think it was destiny that would not allow her to forget Arthur and Camelot, that made her long for the kingdom and the man she had left behind. Still, she had hoped it was some sort of misguided arrogance that had caused such thoughts to enter her mind but it appeared she was mistaken.

"So I have no choice?" she whispered the question tearfully, clutching a hand to her thundering heart.

"The choice is always yours, Guinevere," Kilgharrah replied sagely, "Destiny cannot take away your free will. But destinies are also not just some passing whims of a fickle God; they are forged from what lies within your heart and they _are_ the path it wishes to follow."

She shook her head furiously. "I never wished to be Queen."

"Perhaps not," Kilgharrah conceded, "but it is seldom those who aspire to fame that are remembered; the names of those who never desired the greatness they accomplished are the ones that live long in the minds of men."

"But I'm just a serving girl!" she protested, not even realising she had risen to her feet, "I never wanted this destiny, I never wanted any of it! And now it won't leave me be!"

"It is not destiny that will not give you rest," the dragon told her as he understood the meaning behind her heated words, "It is your heart."

"You just told me they were one and the same."

"I have told you that it is _the heart_ that commands _destiny_," he reminded her, "Not the other way around."

Her eyes turned skyward and a shaky breath left her lips as the first tears leaked down her cheeks.

"You cannot fault destiny for what you feel, young Guinevere," Kilgharrah spoke again after a long period of silence. "Even if you would rather believe otherwise, all your emotions _are_ genuine. Destiny did not cause them."

Her eyes drifted shut as she accepted the truth in what the Great Dragon was saying; the love she felt for both Arthur and Camelot was never something she had been forced to feel.

_No one forced you betray that love either_, her conscience supplied and she felt her guilt eat at her once again, even more so as another truth struck her. If her emotions were not brought upon by destiny, then neither were Arthur's; he did not ask her to reconcile simply because the voice of fate had whispered it in his ear…he _truly_ wanted her back.

"And what happens if what destiny has in store does not come to pass?" she queried in a steadier voice, finally allowing her eyes to open once more.

"Then the future takes a different course," Kilgharrah answered simply. "It is very rare, but I have known it to happen."

"Very rare? Why?"

"Because one cannot easily escape their destiny. You can run as fast and faraway as you like but it will ultimately be futile; you cannot escape your destiny because you cannot escape your heart."

Gwen sighed deeply as she considered this. While there was no denying what her heart wished for, she also thought it was wrong for wanting what it did. She had never wanted to be Queen, that much was for certain; what she had desired was to be Arthur's wife and she supposed being Queen would have simply been a unavoidable consequence. Their marriage would have been a matter of love and not of state; however, she had betrayed that love and – in her eyes – that annulled the very thing that had set her supposed destiny into motion.

The way she saw it, the future would have to change course because there was no conceivable way for her to ever be crowned Queen of Camelot.

* * *

Morgana howled in rage as she woke from yet another dream. While the bracelet her obnoxious brother had clasped around her wrist had stopped her from using her magic, it had not kept her inborn seer's powers from showing her the future in her dreams.

She hissed with fury as the coronation flashed before her eyes once more. She should have ended Gwen's life when she had the chance.

* * *

**A/N 2: I am aware that Guinevere was never _actually_ referred to as the 'Once and Future Queen'. Just roll with me here. Also, I'm going with my own interpretation of destiny, fate and all this chapter. **


	11. The Offering of a New Chance

_Six months_, Merlin thought wistfully, _six months and he still makes a sight as pitiful as he did on the first day._

The warlock had tried – for nearly half a year now – to lift Arthur's spirits. In the beginning, he had attempted to convince Arthur to coax Gwen into giving him another chance; the King had refused adamantly, stating that he would not break his word to her. Merlin had only abandoned such attempts after having spent two consecutive days in the stocks for his efforts. After that misfortune, he had decided to let the subject of Gwen slide and tried everything in his power to get his friend out of the perpetual state of brooding he seemed to be in. It was – as it turned out – yet another fruitless effort.

Arthur was not slacking in his duties as sovereign by any means; in fact, he was striving. Camelot's ties to the allied kingdoms were stronger than ever and Arthur worked hard to strengthen those ties even further. He had imposed a new tax system which allowed for some burden to be taken off the less fortunate citizens and shifted to the wealthier ones, something the people seemed to appreciate greatly. He had even – to Merlin's amazement – had the Old Kings' round table brought to Camelot, announcing it represented the values he, as both ruler and man, stood for. No man sitting at the table could claim to be better than the next and questions of origin and standing would be rendered inconsequent, for they would all be each other's' equals as they sat at the round table.

Still, with all his success, Merlin knew Arthur was not truly happy. He would smile and acknowledge the praise but Merlin could see him – once everyone's backs were turned – reach for the leather throng that rested around his neck and the warlock knew that, in some weird way, Arthur did it all first and foremost to make Guinevere proud of him.

Merlin sighed as he stepped further into Arthur's chambers, noticing the way the King was staring at a piece of parchment with an expression the warlock had come to dub the Arthurian pout of misery.

"Is it another love letter from Vivian?" Merlin queried lightly, making Arthur's eyes connect with his in surprise.

"Uh…no, it is not. Fortunately," Arthur replied as he heaved a deep breath.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "And you look like you're about to spend a week with no one but Gwaine to keep you company because…"

Arthur chuckled for a moment before his features turned serious once more. "The Princess Mithian will be going to Caerleon on a state visit. She is to sign a trading deal with Annis on her kingdom's behalf, I am informed."

"And this displeases you?"

"No, I…her father has asked me to allow her to spend one night in Camelot, as he does not wish to have her in the woods at night any more than necessary."

Merlin's eyes widened as he finally put the pieces together. "And Gwen is accompanying her to Caerleon."

Arthur's only response was to let his head drop on top of his desk with a thud.

"One would think you'd rejoice at the idea of seeing her again," Merlin commented, angling his head to the side as he observed his master with a mixture of both pity and amusement.

"You want me to rejoice at the reminder that she will never be my Queen?" Arthur grumbled, his voice slightly muffled by his head's current position.

Merlin surmised the ring he wore around his neck was doing a fine job of reminding him of the fact daily but thought it an unwise observation to voice aloud. "It's been six months," he said instead, "Perhaps she has reconsidered her decision by now."

While the Dragonlord knew the conversation between Gwen and his scaly friend the latter had related to him hadn't managed to change her mind in itself, he was certain it had given her much fodder for thought.

Arthur sighed deeply. "Only one thing is for certain, Merlin…I will make a complete fool out of myself the moment I see her."

* * *

As the warlock watched his friend greet the arriving party four days later, he couldn't help but think Arthur's earlier statement had been very accurate.

Mithian and Gwen had walked up to the King side by side and the latter had lost all control over his mind and mouth the instant he'd laid eyes on his beloved. It had taken him over a minute to even remember the Princess' name and when the time came to greet Guinevere herself, it had required three stuttering attempts to get it right.

By the time he was leading Nemeth's visitors to the banquet room for a meal, his face was as crimson as his cloak.

"I truly appreciate your hospitality, Arthur," Mithian thanked him as food began arriving to the table. "I apologise if any arrangements for my arrival have caused you trouble; my father worries about me needlessly."

He smiled slightly at her apparent annoyance over her father's actions. "Well, perhaps he doesn't know how well you are able to defend yourself or how skilled you are with the sword."

A knowing glance passed between the two as they both recalled the battle against Helios and his men but since more Knights of Nemeth beside Bren had joined them for the meal, they could not reminisce it aloud.

"I have taught her everything she knows," Bren felt it was his duty to point out, causing Mithian to roll her eyes with little care for decorum.

"I'm sure you have," Arthur said in a voice that carried little of the warmth he had addressed Mithian with and everyone at the table – with perhaps the exception of a few Knights of the Princess' kingdom – knew exactly why.

Bren appeared to be unbothered by the King's dislike of him and Gwen – who had been seated between the Knight and Mithian – could see a certain glint form in his eye, one she knew would bring nothing but trouble. So when Bren went to speak, she made sure to kick him in the shin with as much strength as she could muster while remaining inconspicuous. He let out a small grumble of pain before straightening in his seat.

Arthur found his actions to be odd but had no chance to ponder them over further as Elyan spoke.

"Milady," he addressed Mithian with a tentative smile, "I was hoping I could speak to you about something."

"Of course," she agreed with a smile of her own, making Elyan let go of some of his nervousness.

"I know that it is perhaps too much to ask, but…would it be possible for Gwen to stay in Camelot while you visit Caerleon?" he asked in one breath, earning himself surprised looks from everyone at the table, including his sister.

"I have not seen her in half a year, milady," he added quickly, fearing he might have offended the Princess with such a bold request, "And I have missed her terribly; we all have. I simply wish to spend some time with her before she leaves again."

Gwen's shocked expression turned soft at the words and she smiled at her brother. She had missed them too; all of them.

"I don't see any reason why it couldn't be arranged," Mithian spoke lightly, catching the look that had passed between the siblings. "I am certain Annis will provide me with someone who can see to my needs. Unless of course, you have any objections, milord?" she turned to Arthur with a raised brow, catching the King by surprise. He had barely even managed to process the idea of having Guinevere close by for longer than just one day and once again lost all dexterity of speech when the Princess caught him off guard.

Inarticulate words that sounded like utter gibberish to everyone's ears left his mouth in a flood and as the attendees' eyebrows rose in shock, so did the colour in his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Of course," he managed to say, valiantly trying not to break eye contact with a clearly amused Mithian, "She may stay here."

"Thank you, sire," Gwen spoke politely and quietly, making his eyes wander to hers and effectively rendering him stupid once more.

"Anything for you, Guinevere," he replied impulsively before freezing in mortification; what was it about her that made him lose his wits in the blink of an eye? He was the bloody King, for heavens' sake!

An uncomfortable silence – only broken here and there by Gwaine and Merlin's muffled snickers – reigned for a long time before Gwen took it upon herself to salvage the situation.

"Well, I shall be returning to my old home during my stay then."

Arthur's eyes widened in panic. He could not let her step foot there, not until he removed all the undeniable signs of his presence. Unbeknownst to anyone – though he was quite sure Merlin suspected something – Arthur had been spending time in Gwen's old home when his loneliness became a burden too heavy to carry, finding comfort in being in a place that still carried her essence within its walls. He had never counted on anyone but himself going to the house as Elyan had been living in the castle with the other Knights and had therefore been rather careless about the marks of his presence he had left behind.

"You can't go back to your house," he blurted out, making her almost jump out of her seat in surprise.

"Why not?"

"Because…because…Elyan's been living there," he voiced the first lie that came to his mind, "and you know what it's like when a man lives alone. I fear your old house has become completely infested with…_rats_."

Elyan's jaw dropped in astonishment but before he could begin questioning Arthur's sanity, Gwen's enraged voice reached his ears.

"You let our father's house get infested with rats?"

"I…uh…" her brother stuttered bewilderedly, his eyes going from hers to Arthur's. The latter was giving him a look that made it clear it would be best if he agreed with his King's outrageous lies. "Yes," he said, nodding his head emphatically, "big, nasty…_rats_," he confirmed, gesturing with his hands as if to demonstrate the unspeakable size of these imaginary rodents.

She looked absolutely affronted. "I will deal with you later," she vowed menacingly and Elyan had the common sense to be frightened. He chanced a glance at a sheepish-looking Arthur once his sister's eyes were averted; he didn't know what his King was thinking but whatever it was, it better be worth the gruesome admonishment Gwen would inflict upon him.

* * *

"Not a word, Merlin," Arthur warned once he and his manservant were alone in the royal chambers; he simply _knew_ Merlin was dying to comment on his behaviour during lunch.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Merlin said chirpily, making Arthur's eyes narrow. Whenever one his servant's sentences began with these words…

"But if I _were_ to say anything…"

And there it was.

"…I'd have to tell you that you have by far outdone any village idiot I have ever met."

"Insulting your King is punishable by death, Merlin…_if_ I am in a good mood."

"Which you obviously aren't."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Arthur muttered as he flopped onto his bed with a sigh of despair.

Merlin pursed his lips. "She will probably be spending about a week here, you know," he pointed out, "This could be your chance to win her back."

"I gave her my word that I would not bother her again, Merlin."

The warlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying you have to smother her with propositions of marriage every minute of every day; maybe you could just – you know – get her to like you again. And then perhaps she'll change her mind. You got her to fall in love with you before, didn't you?"

"I have no idea how I did that."

"Well, you can at least _try_ to do something."

"Leave it be, Merlin," Arthur said as utter defeat laced his tone, "Perhaps it is better this way."

Merlin's chest puffed with annoyance as he squared his shoulders; enough was enough. "I will most certainly _not_ let it be; I have invested too much time and effort into the two of you to watch it all go to waste."

His friend chuckled mirthlessly. "Good to know it's all about you, Merlin."

Next thing he knew, one of his boots was flying to his head. "Ow!"

"Perhaps that will knock some sense into you! I will not stand by and watch this happen, Arthur! I refuse! If I am condemned to spend the rest of my days putting up with you then – by God – Gwen will have to share my misery!" Merlin ranted agitatedly as his hands waved through the air in uncoordinated motions.

The King watched in stupefaction as his manservant appeared to have some sort of breakdown, rubbing the blossoming bump on his head absentmindedly.

* * *

"Promise me something," Mithian spoke as she watched Gwen rummage through the wardrobe of the chambers the Princess was to spend the night in, apparently in search of something.

"What's that?" Gwen queried absentmindedly as she turned the dresses over and over; the one she was looking for had to be in there somewhere.

"Challenge Arthur to a duel."

Gwen spun around, startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your fighting skills have improved drastically over these past few months; I believe you could beat him if you put your mind to it."

"And why would I want that?" Gwen asked as she brought her attention back to the closet, focusing her search to its most remote corners.

"Because I would enjoy it immensely to see the greatest warrior in all of the kingdoms fall at your hand," she replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, it would teach him a very important lesson."

Gwen smiled ruefully as she emerged from the wooden piece of furniture, a violet dress in her hands. "A woman can fight as well as any man," she said with a sigh as her eyes fell to the piece of clothing she was clutching in her hands. "Morgana taught me that," she then added more quietly and – unless Mithian was sorely mistaken – regretfully.

"You cared for her a lot, didn't you?" Mithian questioned quietly, though her tone conveyed she already knew the answer.

Gwen nodded sadly. "I considered her my sister," she admitted, "And while she wishes me nothing but harm now, I still can't forget all the good times we have shared. She has taught me so many things, Mithian."

The Princess' expression turned sympathetic at the words, knowing they were most likely true. While she was certain Gwen had been born with a noble heart, she was still a commoner and yet, she knew how to read, write and she spoke with the sort of eloquence Mithian had rarely seen amongst those of her station. She was sure Gwen had Morgana to thank for it all.

"You truly have a heart of gold, Gwen," Mithian stated with an air of wonder to her words, "After everything, you still care for her."

"She may have forgotten the friendship we once shared but I haven't."

Gwen folded the dress neatly and set it aside. "I will go visit her tomorrow after I see you off," she said with a deep sigh, "No matter what she has done, I still feel sad knowing she is locked all by herself in the dungeons."

* * *

Arthur fidgeted nervously as he watched Mithian and her Knights disappear out of sight. Guinevere had come to wish them safe travels as well and was now standing at his side on the stone steps, making it hard for him not to forget himself and simply stare at her like a lovesick fool…which – admittedly – he was.

_Look anywhere but at her_, his cautious side warred with his impulsive one, _look at the gravel, the horses, the trees…oh, look at the beautiful trees! _

"Could I ask you for a favour?"

"The trees!" he exclaimed nonsensically as her soft request broke the silence, making her jump backwards in bewilderment.

"What?"

His eyes went wide as his mind finally processed what had happened. "I, uh…it, umm…what is this favour you speak of?"

She observed him quizzically for a few more moments before deciding an attempt to comprehend the workings of his mind would be pointless. "I wish to visit Morgana in the dungeons," she said and raised her hand to halt the protest that she knew was about to leave his mouth. "I know you must think me insane for asking such a thing, but I truly want to see her."

Whatever dissuasion attempt he was about to make died on his lips at the sound her soft tone and the sight of her pleading eyes. Such beautiful eyes she had; an unsuspecting soul such as himself could get lost in their depths, have their brains turn into mush and all coherent thought leave them in an instant.

"Arthur?" she prompted uncertainly when his eyes took on a faraway look and he didn't seem to be in the process of giving her any kind of response.

It took him a moment to realise she was addressing him again, making him snap out of his reverie with a start. "Of course," he granted her permission, standing a little bit straighter in a subconscious attempt to preserve the little dignity he had left, "If you wish to see her, I will send word to the guards so they know to expect you."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"Well, it's hardly even a favour," he dismissed the words of gratitude with a nervous, little twitch of a smile.

Her eyes kept watching him kindly and, while _he_ could already feel his palms beginning to sweat, she seemed to remain calm as her chest rose and fell in deep breaths. Arthur couldn't be sure, but she appeared to be considering something, pondering whether she should voice it aloud or not.

He intended to wait her out patiently but grew restless as she didn't speak even after some time had passed. "Is there something else you wished to speak to me about?" he asked first as he couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"I…I just wanted to tell you that news of all you have done for Camelot have never been far from my ears," she eventually said but there was something in her expression that made him believe this wasn't the matter she wished to address originally; it didn't make this new choice of words sound any less sincere, though. "I always knew you would be a great King."

Arthur was certain his heart was beginning to perform complex acrobatics in his chest at the praise; the pride in her voice made his own one fail him. It was probably for the best, since he was sure he would have blurted out something utterly nonsensical otherwise.

As his vocal cords seemed to have lost their ability to function, he could only grin gratefully at the compliment, making her lips twitch at the corners in response.

"I should go now," Gwen was the one to end the moment and, with a slight nod of her head, began to climb the steps back into the castle.

Even after the hem of her skirts had long disappeared out of sight, Arthur kept staring in the direction she'd gone in, realising that keeping his word would be an even harder feat than he had previously imagined.

* * *

_It was the Lady Morgana's first day in the castle. Gwen had watched her new mistress arrive with barely hidden curiosity as she waited to be introduced. The King - said to have always been exceptionally fond of the girl who was now his new ward - had wanted the young lady to feel as comfortable as possible and had therefore requested someone her own age to be appointed as her handmaiden. A respected maid in the castle had recommended the blacksmith's daughter and so Gwen found herself in front of the palace that day, impatiently waiting for her duties to commence. _

_Her eyes tracked the luxuriously dressed girl with slick black hair approach the King and bring her short arms about his waist, her impossibly blue eyes conveying her pain. Gwen could see the sadness and sorrow the girl felt at the loss of her father. Gorlois' honour, Gwen's own father had told her, was one every man should aspire to live by. _

_Morgana soon left Uther's embrace and – after a quick introduction to the young Prince Arthur - was ushered closer, which Gwen took as her cue to curtsey; she had been practicing the greeting for hours the previous night. _

_"I'm Guinevere, milady," she introduced herself as Morgana stood before her uncertainly, obviously feeling uncomfortable from all the eyes that were on her, "But everyone calls me Gwen."_

_The lady's face showed the first hints of a smile then, her expression brightening at the sight of this cheerful girl with untameable black curls._

_"Pleased to meet you, Gwen," she responded quietly before glancing at the King shyly. "May I retire before the feast, milord?" she asked politely and Gwen could tell she would rather not even attend the celebration in the honour of her arrival that was to be thrown that evening. _

_"Of course," Uther agreed immediately as he ran a caring hand over his ward's hair, "Show Morgana to her chambers."_

_"Follow me, milady," Gwen told her new mistress as she began leading the way. _

_Morgana didn't speak much and seemed to have very few requests, something Gwen found to be slightly disconcerting. She had never had to attend to a lady before but she was told that the orders she was to carry out would be numerous and very specific; Morgana was proving this information wrong. _

_Unsure of how to proceed, Gwen did what she always would when she was nervous; she babbled. Morgana still didn't speak but she didn't seem to mind either, listening as Gwen went on and on about the silliest of things. _

_It wasn't until Gwen spoke of the time the butcher's son had slipped a toad into her brother's trousers that Morgana began laughing. Startled, Gwen almost dropped the brush she had been running through the other girl's hair. _

_"You're quite charming," Morgana observed as her quiet laughter died down and her eyes connected with Gwen's in the mirror. _

_"If you say so, milady."_

_Morgana smiled fondly at the words but the smile soon faded as her eyes cast downwards and she fell silent again. _

_Gwen resumed her movements with the brush but dared not open her mouth again. The lady probably took her for a fool after all the gibberish she had told her. _

_"Will you be my friend, Gwen?" Morgana spoke again, quietly and – Gwen noted – uncertainly as her eyes drifted to the mirror once more. _

_Her new handmaiden grinned widely at the question, her wild black curls bouncing as she nodded enthusiastically. "I will, milady."_

The screeching of metal brought Gwen out of her thoughts and she blinked the remnants of Morgana's childish smile away, her eyes replacing these happy memories with the sight of her old mistress curled up on the stone bench.

Her black dress was dirtied with dust and hay and her hair, once akin to the finest of silks, was a mangled mess of knots and dirt; her face was ashen and her eyes hollow, making it hard for Gwen to reconcile the sight before her with the image of Morgana she still carried within her mind.

The guard moved to clasp the iron chains around Morgana's wrists and Gwen's brows furrowed in disapproval. "There is no need to restrain her," she said, her distaste obvious in her tone.

The guard seemed very unapologetic. "King's orders," he retorted simply, bringing the shackles around Morgana's wrists without remorse.

Gwen exhaled in annoyance, giving the guard a disdainful look as he walked out of the cell.

"Have you come here to gloat?" Morgana asked hatefully, her voice raspy from months of being used so scarcely.

Gwen's eyes left the guard's back at the question and wandered to Morgana's, finding nothing but pure hatred and contempt there. She shook her head sadly.

"No," she said quietly, "I could never find joy in seeing you like this. I've come to bring you a change of clothing."

She stepped closer as she raised the folded dress she carried in her arms, the same one she had set aside the previous.

The chains rattled as Morgana shoved the purple bundle to the filthy floor with anger. "I don't want anything from you!" she spat, her features morphing into a mask of rage. Gwen's eyes watered slightly as they remained on the now tarnished piece of clothing.

"Do you remember this dress, Morgana?" she asked after a moment's pause. "I made it for you…when you disappeared for a year. I worked on it without rest in hopes of having the chance to present it to you one day," she recalled nostalgically before allowing her gaze to lift to her former friend's face once again. "And I was so glad when I got it."

These memories seemed to invoke none of the fondness Gwen felt in Morgana. "I should have slit your throat in the woods," was all she said in response to her old maidservant's words, making the latter draw in a deep breath as more tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

"What is it that I have done to deserve such hatred from you?" Gwen asked as she stubbornly refused to let the tears fall.

"It's not what you _did_," Morgana hissed venomously, "It's what you're destined to do."

Hearing the admission felt like a blow to the chest, making Gwen's breath leave her lungs in a quiet gasp. _Destiny_? It was all because of her bloody destiny?

"That's what this is about?" she exclaimed incredulously, "You began hating me _solely_ because of something you've…seen in your dreams, I suppose?"

"My dreams show me the future," Morgana countered, apparently feeling no regret over her actions, "And seeing you sit on _my_ throne is a future I cannot allow."

"So, I hadn't actually done anything but appear in one of your dreams?"

"You betrayed me."

Gwen's head tipped to the side slightly as her eyes narrowed. "Let's not pretend you didn't betray me first," she cautioned, knowing perfectly well Morgana was alluding to her efforts to help Leon escape during her short reign, "I still remember the way you smiled as I was being led away to await execution for a crime I never committed."

Morgana's nostrils flared at the memory. "I could have been rid of you then if Emrys hadn't thwarted my plans."

Gwen's eyes widened slightly, realising Emrys must have been the sorcerer who was to take her place on the pyre. But if Emrys had _thwarted_ Morgana's plans then…it _had_ been Morgana who had set it all up, just as Gwen had originally thought. And this Emrys had risked his own neck to save her…she would have to find a way to thank him. Perhaps Kilgharrah knew of him; she could ask the dragon if they ever met again.

She regarded the woman before her with both pity and disappointment, watching as her upper lip curled like that of a rabid animal. Gwen slowly bent down to pick up the dress from the ground and shook the material to get rid of some of the dust that had stained it before neatly folding it atop the bench.

"In case you change your mind," she said simply as she made her way out of the dungeon, not bothering to glance back at the woman she had once given a promise of friendship.

* * *

Arthur took his time in crossing the distance between himself and the lone figure standing in the passage atop the citadel's gates and overlooking the lower town, allowing himself to appreciate the sight she made. Her eyes seemed to be looking at nothing in particular, her forehead creased slightly as she appeared to be lost in thought. There was also an air of serenity and unspoken strength about her as she stood with her back as straight as an arrow and her chin held high; Arthur felt like the only thing she was missing was a crown on top of her delectable, messy curls.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked casually as he approached her, coming to a stand next to her.

She smiled slightly. "Well, it is quite a sight to behold."

"Indeed," he agreed but surmised they were probably referring to two entirely different things. "Uh, how did your visit to Morgana go?" he queried next, having already been told by the guards that it seemed to have upset her.

"About as well as I expected it to," she replied sadly, her eyes seeming to focus on something in the distance.

"The guards told me you offered her a change of clothing. That was very kind of you."

"I'm afraid she doesn't see it that way," Gwen said as she sighed deeply. "She truly hates me and…it's all because of something I am yet to fully understand."

Arthur's brows drew together in confusion. Since when had Guinevere begun speaking in riddles?

"Well, uh…I could try and help you understand. Or…find someone who…actually…can."

She smiled at his endearing attempt of lending a hand, finally tearing her gaze away from the tall trees in the distance and steering it toward his. "What do you know about destiny, Arthur?" she asked lightly and the disbelief of being questioned on such a topic must have been evident on his face because she appeared to be stifling a giggle.

"Destiny? Only the rubbish Merlin tells me."

The statement piqued her interest. "Merlin?"

"Yes, well…he always goes on and on about this great destiny he thinks me to have," Arthur shrugged it off like it was no big deal, "About how he has faith in the kind of King I will become and how I will be the greatest King the world has ever known…that sort of gibberish."

Guinevere seemed stunned by this, her jaw dropping slightly as a glint of realisation lit up her eyes. "Then Merlin is more knowledgeable than you think."

Her words only served to confuse him further. "I can't really tell whether you're praising Merlin or me…"

"Merlin, obviously," she responded as if even the world's greatest simpleton would know it to be the answer.

"Obviously," he agreed with a slight roll of his eyes, making her smile again.

The moment grew long and Arthur simply knew he was mere seconds away from saying something undeniably stupid and embarrassing again but Guinevere saved his already damaged dignity before he had a chance to make a complete fool out of himself.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," she said with a nod, as if confirming this fact to herself. "At least until Elyan is finished with training. I will see you later, I suppose."

He made a small noise of acknowledgement as she gave him one final smile and moved past him, once again leaving him staring after her for a long while.


	12. The Fires of a Summer's Day

Gwen relished in the warmth the summer provided as she walked down a well-known path through the woods; the beautiful rays of sunshine made everything feel less complicated than it really was.

Her mind still reeled from her encounter with Morgana. She had hoped – and had clearly been foolish to do so – that her old mistress could be reasoned with; it would appear such hopes were very naïve. Her old friend was long gone and it was high time she accepted this new truth.

The name Morgana had uttered with such disdain was not far from Gwen's mind either. _Emrys_. Who was he? Why had he protected her? Was he privy to this grandiose destiny she was said to have too and – unlike Morgana - wished to see it fulfilled? Or was he simply a kind soul who could not stand by and watch an innocent woman die? And more importantly, _where_ had he come from? How had he known of her predicament then? By now, Gwen had realised the sorcerer had not been the one to plant the poultice that had brought Uther's wrath upon her in the first place; it had been Morgana. Gwen was beginning to suspect Merlin had had a hand in alerting the sorcerer of her troubles; after all, Merlin had been the only one she had shared her suspicions about Morgana with. She supposed Merlin must have gone to Gaius with the information and that the elderly physician had been the one to contact Emrys; Gwen knew Gaius to be very well-acquainted with the world of sorcery, having practised it once himself. Besides, Gaius had been the one to get in touch with the same sorcerer she now knew she owed her life to when Uther had been mortally wounded; Arthur had told her as much.

_Arthur._

She sighed as his name rushed to the forefront of her mind and refused to leave. She had spent a good part of the past six months trying to convince herself they could truly never be; no matter what Kilgharrah had told her, she still believed the bridges that had been burned between them were impossible to build again. But as time passed, all the reasons she had maintained for their separation had begun to fade and it had come to the point where she had to remind herself of them daily, repeating them like a mantra over and over again. It had been hard enough to forbid her heart from wishing for Arthur when there were miles between them; it was next to impossible now that they were so close again. He weakened her resolve just by looking at her at it infuriated her; she should have learned by now not to let her heart rule her head.

The same head that was beginning to ache from all this thinking, as it was.

She took a deep breath as she strayed off the dirt pathway and moved in the direction of the small lake she knew would be hiding behind some tall vegetation. She was very familiar with that lake, having frequented it constantly as a child. It wasn't a very large body of water but compensated for its small perimeter by its depth, making it the perfect place for the occasional dive. Gwen hoped a few minutes of swimming would help her clear her head; she had always found it to be a very relaxing activity. She was even able to sustain this habit in Nemeth - as the kingdom's lands offered many suitable streams and lakes – and was often joined by Mithian, who would giggle like a little girl as she sloshed the water around. Bren would always stand guard at an appropriate distance, shaking his head at the women's silliness all the while.

Gwen shrugged out of her dress and removed her undergarments, leaving only her thin shift on. She folded the clothing into a neat pile and rested it against a nearby tree before removing the pins from her hair and letting them join the bundle on the ground. She stepped out of her shoes next and approached the edge of the lake, taking a moment to appreciate the warm breeze that blew her hair. Her toes hit the water and she was pleased to learn that it was lukewarm, its temperature very soothing. She advanced slowly and, feeling the light material of her shift get heavier and heavier with water and came to a stand when it reached the underline of her breasts. She closed her eyes again, letting her hands glide over the clear surface idly as the fresh air filled her chest with deep breaths.

_You are the Once and Future Queen._

The memory cut through her inner peace out of nowhere and she dived underwater, determined to chase it away as she explored the lake's depths anew.

* * *

_You are only doing your duty as Knight_, Arthur reminded himself as he led his horse down the same path he had seen Guinevere take, _you have made an oath of protection and that's all you're doing. Nothing more. _

The words sounded untrue to his own mind but he needed a reason to justify this little expedition. He had seen Guinevere take this route earlier and had instantly become concerned for her safety; a woman passing through the woods alone – even in the light of day – would be exposing herself to all sorts of dangers. Really, what had she been thinking? She could get attacked by bandits, bears, wolves, rats, snakes, birds, bugs or…swarms of deadly butterflies!

He was mad, he realised. She had driven him _mad_.

Still, the fact remained that he had once made the mistake of letting her wander through the woods alone…and look at how that had turned out. He was not making that mistake again.

He noticed a small disturbance in the tall weeds and bushes off the side of the road and halted his horse. He dismounted the animal and secured its reigns around a nearby tree before making his way through the slightly crumpled plants, emerging moments later by the side of a lake he had visited once or twice as a little boy. It was usually done in secrecy as the lake was frequented by children of commoners and his father disapproved of the idea; the heir to the throne could not be seen rolling around in the mud with the offspring of butchers, innkeepers, servants and blacksmiths.

His eyes widened as they landed on the pile of clothing on the ground, recognising the blue material as Guinevere's immediately. His gaze shot to the lake itself, noticing the surface ripple and a few bubbles disturb it. He held his breath as he waited for Guinevere to emerge but after – what he considered to be – too much time had passed and she was still nowhere in sight, he felt panic course through him. His belt, tunic and boots were disregarded in the blink of an eye – as he knew he could swim much faster with less clothing to slow down his movements - and he jumped headfirst into the lake's depths, desperate to save his beloved from what he was certain to be a case of drowning.

He scoured the water – now muddied from the commotion he had caused – frantically, looking over every inch for any sign of her. He spotted her shape on his right and swam toward her as quickly as he could, not even noticing that she was actually _moving_ in his fear. His arm encircled her waist firmly and he used his legs to propel himself, along with his precious cargo, to the surface.

Gwen yelped as she felt someone's hands on her, causing her to inhale a large mouthful of water. She coughed and sputtered as she felt the breeze of air on her face again and a large body bringing her closer to the shore. Her feet hit the lake's sandy bottom and she fought the stinging in her eyes, knowing she had very little time to defend herself from this unknown attacker.

She stilled completely as a roughened hand touched her face and hair with frenzied movements; she'd recognise _that_ hand anywhere.

The stinging of water in her eyes was long forgotten as she stared at a clearly worried – and, she noted, shirtless – Arthur in absolute shock.

"What on Earth are you doing?" she exclaimed in an unusually shrill voice, causing his hand to still and lower slightly.

"I thought you were drowning!" he said in bewilderment, making her stare at him with incredulity.

"I was taking a swim!"

He looked as though he had been struck dumb. "So…you weren't…actually drowning?"

"No!"

"Oh," was all he could say, his previous fear now replaced by a growing sense of embarrassment.

She kept looking at him in disbelief, growing painfully aware of their bodies' situation. His hand still remained on her lower back and their chests were practically touching; hers barely covered by a flimsy layer of soaked clothing, his completely bare. The water did little to soothe the heat he seemed to generate; it seeped into every pore of her body, rendering the water's touch cold against her increasingly warm skin.

Arthur, on his part, was transfixed by a single droplet that had been making its ways along the side of Guinevere's nose, past the corners of her slightly parted lips, momentarily leaving her skin as it fell through the air before landing on the slope of her rising chest and effectively drawing his attention to the transparent nature of her soaked, plain, white underdress.

Gwen suddenly became aware of a furious thundering beneath her fingers and realised her hand was resting against his slippery chest, feeling his heart pounding. She also noticed a very familiar throng resting against his skin. Her free hand moved to grasp it in astonishment, making him swallow nervously; in his haste to get her to safety, he had completely forgotten to remove the ring he wore around his neck.

"I thought I'd lost it," she whispered, letting her fingertips glide over the precious, little band that had once adorned her hand.

"I found it in the woods," he told her in a voice he barely recognised as his own; he sounded like he was struggling to catch his breath.

"And you've kept it all this time?" she asked quietly, causing him to bring his gaze to hers.

"Yes."

His voice was a low rumble and it made Gwen shiver for a reason she couldn't quite comprehend. The arm he had around her waist tightened instinctively, making the little gap between them close entirely; her breasts heaved as their pebbled tips raked over his chest, making her shiver again.

She was certain she had lost her mind because it offered no resistance as she pressed her lips to his, allowing her hands to move over his shoulders and rest at the nape of his neck. His responding sharp inhale was that of surprise but he didn't fight her advances; he was quite certain he wouldn't be able to do so even if he wanted to.

He felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of these uncharted waters they were threading; their moments of passion weren't always the picture of propriety but they did – without exception – occur while they were both _fully_ clothed. With nothing but a thin layer between their chests, he could almost feel her skin on his and it made his head swim as her lips explored his greedily; all battle for coherent thought and preservation of honourable intentions was lost and he couldn't even bring himself to regret it. His knightly honour was in shambles and he didn't even care.

Almost as if it had a mind of its own, the hand that had previously caressed her face drifted underwater and his knuckles ghosted over her hip; a jolt went through him as he realised she wore no undergarments. She gasped at his touch, pausing for a moment before meeting his lips again with renewed fervour. He allowed his palm to spread over her hip, gripping it tighter, and his fingers to splay over the slope of her bottom as he drew her closer still.

His lungs burned from lack of air but he paid it no attention; she was perfection and he would relish in every small piece of heaven she was willing to offer him.

She suddenly gasped again but the sound held a much different note than it previously had and before Arthur knew it, she had bolted out of his reach and his hands were grasping at water.

His hazed mind was a little slow on the uptake but he when he did realise she was no longer in his arms and was standing little ways from him with an arm across her chest and a hand over her mouth, he felt as if though the weight of a hundred stones had settled on his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said as he voice trembled, "I shouldn't have done that…I'm sorry."

She could read the hurt and confusion in the crease of his brow and felt like the scum of the Earth for putting it there. _Again_.

For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that she was reacting this way because she thought he would consider her wanton or did not return her feelings. A reassurance was on the tip of his tongue but the expression on her face stopped it from passing his lips; regret shone clearly in her eyes and he had to accept the truth. The kiss was a moment of weakness on her part and she wished she had never done it, not unlike what she said to have felt when she had kissed Lancelot.

His eyes drifted shut as he struggled to even out his breathing and stop the pain he felt from showing. "I'm sorry I interrupted your swim," he spoke in a detached, steady voice as he opened his eyes after a long pause. "I'll just leave you to it."

He pretended not to notice the quivering of her lip and the tears in her eyes as he stepped out of the lake dejectedly and with his head hung low, pulling on his discarded clothing and boots rapidly before disappearing out of sight.

* * *

Gwen made her way to the shore on unsteady legs, allowing her body to drop on the soft patch of grass off the lake's edge and the sun to dry her skin and hair.

She was a horrible, horrible person.

It had just been impossible to resist the temptation; the setting they had found themselves in, their proximity, his hands on her body…she couldn't fight the attraction even if she tried. He drew her to him like a jar of honey would a helpless little bee and she simply wasn't strong enough to resist the pull.

The similarities between this situation and the cursed kiss she had shared with Lancelot were not lost on her; in fact, it was the realisation of those similarities that had finally broken the cloud of lust that had taken over her mind and made her break free of Arthur's grasp. Still, there was something intricately different between the two compulsive kisses; she just couldn't put her finger on it.

She sighed in misery as she waited for the last remnants of water to leave her body and hair, dreading the moment she would have to face Arthur again and apologise for her actions.

* * *

The sun had almost gone down by the time she returned to the citadel. Her brother blocked her path the moment she stepped through the gates.

"Where have you been?" he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I was growing mad with worry."

She did her best to offer him a smile of reassurance. "You needn't worry about me so much, Elyan. I can take care of myself."

"I can recall at least a dozen occasions that prove otherwise."

She sighed at the words but found she was too emotionally exhausted to argue. "I was taking a swim in the lake we used to go to when we were children. I guess I lost track of time."

His tense posture relaxed and he relented in his admonishments. "Just let me know the next time you decide to disappear for hours on end, okay?"

"I will make sure to inform you in the future," she promised before summoning her courage. "Have you seen Arthur, by any chance?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it; she really didn't need Elyan to know there was something amiss. "There was something I wished to speak to him about."

"I saw him arrive earlier, though he was in a very bad mood. He's probably in his chambers."

"I'll look for him there then. I'll come find you once I'm finished."

"You better," he said as he gave her shoulder a light squeeze, "Gwaine has smuggled about a dozen tankards of mead into our chambers; I dare not think what would happen if we leave him alone with them for too long."

* * *

He knew it was her as soon as the soft knock on his chambers' doors reached his ears; it was a light, hesitant tap against the wood and he knew no one else would knock in such a manner at this hour. "Enter," he called out as steadily as he could manage, leaning against his desk as the doors opened slowly.

She entered the chambers cautiously, closing the door behind her before daring to lift her head and meet his eyes. Still, she didn't speak.

"Was there something you wanted, Guinevere?" he prompted tersely as he watched her twist her fingers around nervously.

"I…" she began but her voice failed her and she took a deep breath before speaking again. "I've come to apologise. I should not have…done what I did at the lake."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Oh, you mean making me believe you still cared for me before dashing my hopes again? You are absolutely right Guinevere, you shouldn't have done that."

His tone was sharp and cutting but she knew it stemmed from the hurt she had caused him. "I know," she said, cursing the way her eyes instantly filled with tears, "I just…couldn't help myself."

A mocking, bitter smile curved the corner of his lips. "That seems to be a habit of yours."

She breathed in deeply and let her eyes drop to her fidgeting hands. "Perhaps you are right," she conceded, "Perhaps I truly am a woman with a fickle heart who does nothing but hurt those she loves."

His heart did an unbidden, little summersault at her implied admission that she loved him still.

"But it was not the same," she went on, summoning the strength to meet his gaze again; she needed him to see the honesty behind her words, "With you and Lancelot, it was not the same. I can't quite explain it but…it's so much different with you. It always has been."

He felt his anger begin to melt away and was furious with himself for allowing her words to reach his heart and make it sing its love-struck song that never gave him peace. It would be much easier to convince himself she was a heartless liar and that every word that left her mouth was untrue; the problem was, he knew – though he was reluctant to admit it – that she was no liar. She never had been.

"Maybe I am to blame," he said after a tense moment of silence. "I took your love for granted, Guinevere…and it was a grave mistake. One that I will always regret."

"You didn't drive me into Lancelot's arms that night."

"Maybe I did," he countered, a pang of pain shooting through his chest as the image of the her in Lancelot's embrace flashed before his eyes, "Maybe it was your heart's way of telling you that…that he was worthier of your affections than I could ever be."

He licked his lips as he gathered the courage to say everything he needed to. "I…I selfishly wanted you all to myself," he admitted, his shoulders rising and falling in a small, helpless shrug. "And I was too proud to admit it…to tell you about it. I was too blind to realise that…that I didn't treat you the way you deserved."

His confession both warmed and pained her heart; who knew such loving words could cause so much regret?

"You treated me better than most," she affirmed with certainty and it was the truth; she had been mistreated and overlooked by many during her lifetime. Arthur had made her feel special…well, most of the time.

"Still not well enough. I should have been better to you, Guinevere," he said sadly and her chest tightened at the slight film of tears that coated his eyes.

"And I to you."

He nodded slightly before letting out a small, quiet chuckle. "Such a mess we made, huh?"

Her responding smile was one of sadness and regret. "Indeed."

They held each other's gaze for a long time, things left unspoken hanging in the air around them like a thick mist of missed opportunities, wasted dreams and foolish mistakes.

"Elyan is waiting for me," she was the one to speak first, her voice barely above a whisper, "I was told we could not risk leaving Gwaine unattended for too long."

His chuckle sounded more genuine this time. "I dare not think of the consequences."

"The consequences would be very grave indeed," she agreed as the barest hint of a smile graced her lips. "I suppose I will…be seeing you around?"

The words left her mouth in the form of a question rather than a statement and Arthur could hear the uncertainty in her voice. He smiled in reassurance. "I am hard to miss."

She rolled her eyes. "Goodnight," she bid him farewell for the evening as she moved toward the door.

"Guinevere," he called out before she could reach the handle, making her turn around to face him once more. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for…trying to save you from drowning."

She smiled at the apology but her eyes soon narrowed. "And how exactly _did_ you know where I was?"

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I think you're better off not knowing."

"You're probably right," she agreed as her fingers reached for the doors once more. "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Gwen was hardly surprised to see that Gwaine had not only brought mead to the Knights' shared chambers but had also raided the kitchen's food supplies, something that was certain to bring the cook's wrath upon him. He seemed to have little fear of the woman Gwen had once seen reduce an almost seven feet tall man to a weeping mass on the floor, though.

Merlin was also present at the small gathering, eating all the delicious food he could get his hands on. All the men would tell her stories, tease and entertain in between bites and sips, making her grow from happy to melancholic. She had missed them all and being in their company while knowing she would have to leave them all behind again in a matter of days somewhat spoiled her mood.

Nemeth was a wonderful place and she enjoyed herself there, cherished the friendship she had with Mithian and Bren greatly but still…there was no way to replace the people of Camelot.

Some hours passed and Gwaine had finally drunk enough mead to become bold enough to challenge Percival to an arm wrestle, something the Knights seemed to consider an extremely important match. It was a matter of honour, they said. Arm wrestling was serious business, they claimed. Gwen thought them all to be very silly.

So she left them to their games, using the distraction to come and sit by Merlin's side. He smiled widely as he watched her settle into the chair beside his.

"I haven't really had the chance to speak with you," she said as she helped herself to a piece of stray chicken, "I believe it's time we remedied that."

He nodded solemnly. "I believe you are right," he agreed, "So tell me, what marvellous adventures have you had in Nemeth?"

"I learned how to swordfight properly."

"Does that mean you can challenge Arthur now?"

"Why does everyone keep wanting me to fight Arthur?"

"Because it would be such good fun," he stated the obvious, making her chuckle slightly.

"I've also met the Great Dragon," she said nonchalantly and Merlin promptly choked on his drink, spilling it all over the food as the beverage came raining out of his mouth.

He coughed and sputtered for a long time while Gwen remained calm, patiently waiting for him to find his voice again.

"The Great Dragon is dead," Merlin said slowly as he observed Gwen through questioning eyes; he knew she _had_ met Kilgharrah of course, but it didn't explain why she was telling _him_ about it.

"Now Merlin, we both know that's a lie," she spoke in a soft voice and while it somewhat eased his concerns, it also served to confuse him even further. "You know he still lives; don't deny it."

He was about to do just that but stopped just short of allowing more lies to pour out of his mouth. It had become such a habit to lie that it now came naturally. He didn't have to lie to Gwen, he realised, not about everything. She knew Kilgharrah was alive and, more importantly, did not consider him a threat. He could tell her some vague portion of the truth…it would certainly alleviate some of the guilt he felt over lying to her for years.

He sighed deeply. "You are right," he admitted, "I know he still lives."

She seemed rather satisfied by the confirmation and Merlin couldn't help but wonder. "How did you know I knew about it?"

She shrugged delicately. "It was in the details, really. I asked Arthur about destinies and he told me the only thing he knows about them is the rubbish you tell him."

Merlin's jaw dropped in outrage. "What I tell him is not rubbish!" he proclaimed indignantly and Gwen doubled over in laughter at the resulting expression on his face.

"I know it isn't," she managed to say as her chuckles subsided, "I know it because the dragon told me," she then went on in a more serious, quiet tone, "The things you have told Arthur are the same ones that I've heard from the Great Dragon's mouth, almost word per word. It made me curious but I thought that perhaps you had heard it from Gaius, since he is such a knowledgeable man. But then I remembered what you told me about the night the dragon supposedly died; Arthur was unconscious so you told him he had succeeded in killing him but instead, you had let him go."

_Too smart_, was Merlin's first, impulsive thought as the retelling of her thought process came to an end. _Way too smart_.

"That's about it," he confirmed with a small smile, "When Arthur was knocked out, the dragon told me his quest for vengeance was over and that, as the last of his kind, he only wished to be free. He also spoke about Arthur's destiny and told me to make his protection my priority. So I let the dragon go and returned to my life of misery at King Prat's service."

She grinned at his choice of words to describe Arthur, pleased to know that she had been right. However, there was a question that never strayed far from her thoughts and just begged to be asked.

"Did he only tell you about Arthur's destiny?" she queried in what she hoped was a tone that could pass as common curiosity; Merlin saw right through it.

"Well," he began, dragging out the word longer than necessary, "he talked about a lot of things. Chatty thing, that dragon."

"Anything…in particular that caught your attention?"

He gave her a look. "What do you really want to know, Gwen?"

She sighed in what was most likely despair. "He told me I had a destiny too but it's a ludicrous thing and I wouldn't dream it possible, especially now, but it won't give me rest and I keep wondering…"

Her words were hasty and jumbled, almost as if she were afraid Merlin would judge or perceive her as self-entitled for thinking she could accomplish such a destiny. Her humility was most baffling at times.

"What did he tell you?" he questioned softly, laying his hand over hers in a comforting gesture.

She inhaled deeply and unsteadily. "He told me I was the Once and Future Queen of Camelot."

The words left her mouth in a rush and she held her breath as she waited for her friend's response.

His eyes held a twinkle of merriment as a slow smile spread across his face. "As Arthur is the Once and Future King, you are his Queen."

Her hands came up to cover her face, making him sigh. "Why is it that hard for you to believe that you are destined to be Queen? And don't tell me it's because you were born a commoner," he added sternly to prevent any possible arguments of the sort, "I know you came to terms with it before so that can't be what makes you doubt yourself now."

She lowered her hands and levelled her eyes to his, allowing him to see the slight mist that was beginning to cloud them. "Being Queen would only be an inevitable consequence of marrying Arthur; I was going to be his wife first and Queen second. But how can I be his wife now if he can't trust me?"

Merlin's expression softened. "He does trust you," he claimed with absolute certainty, "Even after everything, he values your counsel above all others."

"He values my counsel where matters of state are concerned," she pointed out, "He would trust me as a Queen but not as a wife."

"And you're afraid he'll cast you aside again if his jealousy gets the better of him at some point," he concluded, sighing at her nod of confirmation.

"Look, Gwen," Merlin said as he took both her hands in his, "I know he is obnoxious and a prat – has terrible breath too - and I have no idea what you even see in him but the fact remains that you love him…and he loves you. More than he would ever admit, actually. Maybe you could give it another try? Just to be sure."

"And what if I betray him again?" she asked fearfully but Merlin shook his head with conviction.

"You won't."

"How can you know that? I never wanted to betray him with Lancelot but I _did_. I didn't want to but I couldn't stop myself. What if I fall prey to such desires again?"

Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly at her choice of words, finding them quite peculiar. He knew Gwen had many regrets over her actions that night but her phrasing nudged something in Merlin's subconscious. _I didn't want to but I couldn't stop myself. _

He allowed this irking to fall at the back of his mind as her pleading eyes begged him for an answer that would ease her worries.

"Lancelot was very special to you," he spoke after a short silence, "in many ways. And people make mistakes; it doesn't mean their heart isn't in the right place. I don't think there is any way you will ever betray Arthur in that way again."

She gave him a teary smile, truly appreciating his words of comfort. And she could also feel her resolve wavering; it had been chipping away for the past six months, beginning to crumble dangerously since she had been in Camelot and Merlin had finally delivered the fatal blow. There was only so much restraint she could put on her feelings.

Merlin saw the shift in her eyes and rejoiced inwardly; he also fully expected Arthur to _publicly _thank him for this.

"Oi!" Gwaine shouted, breaking through the cocoon of relative peace Gwen and Merlin had wrapped themselves in. They turned their heads toward the troublemaker, not in the least surprised to see him about to challenge Percival again. "I want Gwen to be the judge this time. You lot have the eyesight of doddery old women!" he accused his fellow Knights, apparently deeming their ruling of Percival being victorious in the previous match a blasphemy of the foulest sort.

Gwen sighed resignedly. "I'll just tend to the children now, shall I?"

Merlin watched her rise from her chair and go about restoring order amongst the men with a small smile of triumph; he had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a good day.

* * *

**A/N:I know that it wasn't exactly necessary for Arthur to go into shirtless mode before diving into the lake (though it is true that you swim faster and with more ease with less clothing on) but honestly, that make-out scene wouldn't be nearly as fun to write if he had his shirt still on. **

**Why yes, I am a perv. **


	13. The Possibility of Starting Anew

Tomorrow had _not_ begun as a good day. In fact, it started out as a very bad, bad day.

From Arthur's point of view anyway.

Merlin had dropped everything he'd been holding when he had laid eyes on his King in the morning. Arthur, it would seem, had been prey to a most unfortunate allergic reaction. His face was red and rather swollen while patches of his skin were covered in very unpleasant rashes that he could not stop scratching.

After having laughed sufficiently at the sight he made, Merlin had taken Arthur to Gaius, only partially hoping the physician would be able to find a remedy for this ill before anyone else saw the King.

"What is this, Gaius?" Arthur asked anxiously as the other man examined his face, chest and arms with expertise.

"It would seem your body is reacting badly to something you've been in contact with," Gaius replied with ease, not deeming this unpleasant condition to be a particularly dangerous one. "I have seen some plants and algae cause such things from time to time. Have you been close to any lakes or rivers recently, sire?"

Merlin couldn't be sure but it seemed Arthur's face reddened even further at the question.

"I might have," he mumbled, squirming uncomfortably as his entire body seemed to be itching insufferably. "Yesterday."

Gaius nodded knowingly. "Something in the water must have irritated your body. Do not worry, Arthur, I have some tonics and creams that will help."

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur said gratefully before his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat as Gaius poked yet another patch of reddened skin with curiosity. "Have either of you seen Guinevere today?"

Merlin and Gaius exchanged a look; what an odd question to ask.

"I've seen her this morning before coming to your chambers," Merlin replied slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed Arthur's nervous demeanour. "Why?"

"No reason," the King said neutrally but his avoidance of eye contact begged to differ.

Before Merlin could get any more information out of Arthur, the woman in question herself appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning, I was just – oh dear!"

She froze in her tracks as her eyes landed on Arthur, a hand flying to her mouth in horror. His shoulders slumped in response to her reaction; it was just his luck to have her see him in this state. It made matters even worse to see that _she_ had no embarrassing red and itchy markings anywhere.

"What happened?" she queried as she stepped closer cautiously, eyeing the crimson blotches with wariness.

"The King has a severe reaction to something he's come into contact with," Gaius explained readily, tilting his head as he observed a particularly captivating piece of marred skin on Arthur's back, "I suspect it's been caused by certain algae that can be found in nearby lakes."

Gwen's eyes widened in understanding and she took Arthur's pout as a confirmation to her assumptions; he had been exposed to these algae while they were both at the lake the previous day. She had no symptoms but she knew that not everyone reacted to such things in the same way.

Gaius seemed to have interpreted her expression as one of deep concern. "Don't worry, he'll be fine," he reassured as he made his way over to the crowded shelves, searching for a suitable remedy. "Nothing a few quick ointments can't cure."

Gwen wasn't sure _anything _could settle this ill quickly. He looked like a wilted beetroot…a wilted beetroot _with boils_. Still, she thought it unwise to voice such musings aloud.

"Ah! Here it is," Gaius declared triumphantly, a vial of a rather nasty-looking, green remedy in his hands.

He presented it to Merlin. "What do you want me to do with that?" the warlock asked almost fearfully, eyeing the little bottle with extreme apprehension.

"You need to rub it onto Arthur's sores and face," the physician replied as though it should have been obvious, making Merlin's eyes widen in the wildest of panics.

"No way!" he protested, jumping a foot away from the offending vial. "I'm not getting anywhere near Arthur's…_anything_ and I'm most certainly not _rubbing_ Arthur's anything!"

"Well, I can't do it, Merlin. I have rounds to make!"

"Well, I can't do it either!"

"Don't be so squeamish Merlin, it's perfectly safe!"

"I don't care! I'm not touching…_that_!"

"I am right here," Arthur commented dryly but neither of the arguing men seemed to pay him any attention.

"I won't do it, Gaius! I won't! You can't make me!"

"I'll do it," Gwen announced loudly; they could either spend hours bickering or start alleviating Arthur's troubles already. She didn't want to get anywhere near the blotchy marks he sported either but someone had to be practical and it would appear she was the only willing to be so.

She took the vial from Gaius, not noticing either Arthur's or Merlin's expressions; while the warlock seemed positively relieved, the King had the air of a frightened rabbit about him.

"Thank you, Gwen," Gaius said pointedly, giving Merlin a disapproving look as he moved toward the door and went about doing his mandatory rounds to the city's sick.

"I'll just go muck out the stables, then," Merlin told the other two as he too exited the quarters, sounding unnecessarily cheerful at the prospect of spending the next few hours surrounded by horse dunk.

Gwen moved closer to Arthur once the door closed, finally noticing the expression on his face.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit," she said kindly as she came to a stand behind him and uncapped the vial.

"I'm not afraid of pain," he answered automatically, making her roll her eyes and smile the faintest bit.

"Of course not," she agreed. "You're the great King Arthur," she said as she let some of the viscous liquid pour onto her palm, "the finest, bravest warrior in all of the lands," she added as her hands began travelling over his shoulders, "the mere mention of your name makes your enemies tremble…"

Her hands' movements were slow and soothing, her voice soft and cajoling, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut.

"…you fight fiercely and selflessly and you have the scars to prove it…"

Her fingers glided over a few of such scars as she applied the remedy to his shoulders, her hands ghosting over his upper arms for a moment before returning to his back, smoothing over its entire length from his neck to the waistline of his trousers.

"…you have faced foes many do not dare to even think of…"

His breaths grew deeper and slower as she spoke and it wasn't long before he forgot his abominable state, along with all the other troubles that plagued his mind and heart, his head draining of all other thought until there was nothing left but her. A small smile of contentment pulled at his lips.

"…and here you are now, with all the makings of the most terrifying of scarecrows."

His eyes flew open.

"You're mocking me."

"Of course not, milord," she said airily, "I wouldn't dream of it. I only speak of what I know and see."

He could only chuckle lightly at her obvious teasing. It would appear that not even Guinevere, who was always known to be exceptionally kind to those affected by misfortunes such as his, could refrain herself from finding humour in his appearance. He supposed he couldn't fault her for it; he had screamed like a little girl upon seeing his reflection in the mirror that morning. Not that anyone would need to know that.

"And what you see is a scarecrow in the making," he concluded as she came around from behind him, about to commence working on his front.

"A _terrifying_ scarecrow," she emphasised, setting the vial on the bench when she had poured enough ointment into her hands.

"Guinevere," he said quickly, his hand catching her wrist before her fingers could touch his face.

Her eyes met his in surprise. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked and saw her eyebrow drawing together in confusion.

"I am just trying to help," she replied slowly, not quite understanding his meaning.

He sighed. "You have made it clear, time and time again, that you wish to keep your distance from me," he said and though his tone wasn't sharp, there was still a certain edge to it, "So I think you'll understand why I find this kindness a little confusing."

Her chest tightened as she realised how this must seem to him; she had rejected him many times during the past few months – as recently as the previous day – and here she was now, willingly putting herself in his company and pretending as though nothing had happened. Though he hadn't said it, she was certain he thought she was toying with him.

"I know I've been…very _insistent_ about it," she spoke after a few moments of silence, "but I…I've come to think that – perhaps – it doesn't mean we have to act as though we're strangers."

He seemed to be relenting under her sincere gaze and his fingers began stroking her wrist of their own accord, making her pulse quicken.

"What is it that you really want, Guinevere?"

Unlike before, his voice was now soft and - unless Gwen's ears were deceiving her – the slightest bit hopeful.

"Arthur, I - "

A sharp knock on the door caught them both by surprise.

"Gwen, are you in there?" they heard Elyan call out and both froze.

"I can't let him see me like this," Arthur whispered and Gwen wholeheartedly agreed; she knew that the Knights would tease him mercilessly if they were ever to see him in this condition.

"Go hide in Merlin's room," she instructed, "I'll see to Elyan."

He followed her orders readily and she waited until he was out of sight to open the door.

"I'm here," she said lightly as her brother came into view.

"Good," he told her with a smile, "Since Merlin says Arthur is indisposed today, the men are forgoing training."

Gwen was certain she heard a muffled gasp of outrage come from behind her; she bit her lip in order to keep herself from laughing.

"So I thought you and I could spend some more time together," Elyan went on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I would like that very much," she said enthusiastically, "Just let me finish my work here and I'll come and find you. Gaius asked me to organise some things; apparently, Merlin does a very poor job of it."

Elyan nodded knowingly. "I know; Gaius complains about it every chance he gets. See you later, then."

She gave him another wide smile as she closed the door behind him, turning around just in time to see Arthur emerging from Merlin's room, looking rather displeased.

"Forgoing training, are they?" he grumbled, "Bunch of lazy sods."

"By all means, do feel free to saunter to the fields and order them to pick up their swords."

He gave her a dark look and she couldn't help but chuckle; he looked rather ridiculous trying to appear authoritative while being in the condition he was in.

"I'll just finish tending to you before I meet Elyan," she said as she reached for the discarded vial but he caught it first.

"I can tend to myself. You should go be with your brother," he told her softly, "He only gets to spend a few more days with you."

Gwen knew his words were meant to concern Elyan but she couldn't help but think they spoke more of Arthur's feelings than her brother's.

She nodded before making her way to the doorway.

"I do hope you'll feel better tomorrow," she added before exiting and Arthur sighed deeply; he certainly hoped so as well.

* * *

"Are you really happy in Nemeth, Gwen?" Elyan asked as they walked through the lower town leisurely, enjoying a stroll in the pleasant heat of the summer.

"I am," she replied, though her affirmation lacked the conviction it should have carried.

Her brother chuckled. "After all these years, you still think you can lie to me. I know all your tells, Gwen."

"I am _not_ unhappy," she stressed before sighing deeply. "But I can't say that I am truly content either."

"Because you miss Camelot?"

She allowed her eyes to roam over the busy streets and the familiar faces; yes, she missed Camelot indeed.

"I miss it terribly," she admitted and Elyan's face grew solemn at the slight hitch in her voice.

"You can always return here, you know," he said comfortingly, "Your banishment was lifted a long time ago."

"I do think about returning sometimes," she confessed reluctantly, "Even more so during these past few days."

"So what's stopping you? You know Arthur won't object…and from what you've told me about Mithian, I'm certain she won't either."

"I know all that," she assured him but her eyes remained sad, "But I…I don't know. I had so many reasons for leaving but now I can't seem to remember any of them."

"Well, maybe they weren't very good reasons to begin with."

"They _were_ good reasons…but perhaps just not _good enough_ for my stubborn heart."

He chuckled lightly. "Oh, it's not just your heart; your head is a stubborn thing too."

His little teasing earned him a rather strong slap on the shoulder. He looked mildly impressed. "You've gotten strong for such a small thing."

"Have I mentioned that I've been sword-fighting up to three times a week during these past few months?"

"Does that mean you have finally learned how to hold a sword properly?"

This time, she delivered a punch.

"Stop hitting me!"

"Don't act like it hurts you."

"It's a matter of respect," he complained before stepping out in front of her. She looked surprised by the movement and gave him a questioning look; he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"I know you still have doubts," he began in a much more serious tone and Gwen understood that the time for teasing was over, "and I don't want to use your care for our friends or our bond of family to pressure you into returning so I will not ask you to come back for any of us; I will only ask you to do as your heart tells you to. You obviously – even if you'd perhaps prefer otherwise – want to return to Camelot so I ask you not to deny yourself."

She knew tears were beginning to gather in her eyes at her brother's softly spoken words but had no strength to fight them. Her heart was cheering in agreement and she simply could not ignore its continuous nagging anymore; she had fought it for as long as she could but it would appear there was truly no way for her to leave Camelot behind.

Seeing that he seemed to have upset her, Elyan decided to change topics. "Now," he said more cheerfully, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze, "I am going to take you to see our old home. All the rats are gone, I promise."

The Knight had confronted his King about the outrageous accusations of letting the house get infested, forcing the latter to – while blushing and avoiding eye contact the entire time – admit what the source of his lies had been. Elyan was not particularly pleased by Arthur's actions but he supposed he couldn't quite fault him for them; he had witnessed first-hand what Gwen's absence did to the King.

So Elyan had given Arthur time to clear out any belongings he might have left behind, pretending to be working hard on getting rid of the rats whenever his sister asked about how the process was coming along.

"I will be the judge of that," she responded sternly; her brother had never been one for tidiness and this rat incident only served to prove it.

He rolled his eyes as he led her to the down the street to their modest home, truly hoping Arthur had been meticulous in his removal of evidence; any slip, no matter how small, would not escape Gwen's trained eye.

As he watched her inspect the space beneath the bed and emerge with a worn belt buckle in her hands and an expression of disbelief on her face, he realised there might be some truth in Merlin's claims that the King of Camelot was an idiot.

* * *

As hours passed, Arthur grew more and more restless. His condition had confined him to his chambers – no one could see the King in such a pitiful state – and being indoors all day had made him so bored that, by the time the sun was beginning to set, it had driven him to reorganising his closet. By himself! He, the King of Camelot, was folding shirts and trousers…or at least attempting to. He was really no good at it.

He heard a knock on the door and, assuming the disturber was Merlin, bid entrance rather rudely.

"Well, there's another unexpected turn of events."

He froze mid-fold at the sound of her voice; well, this was awkward.

She approached the bed – now covered with scattered pieces of clothing – and observed the mess with an amused expression.

"I'm not exactly sure what you're trying to do but if it's to do with organising clothing, I must say you're doing a very poor job of it," she remarked, making him lower the pair of trousers he'd been battling onto the bed.

"I was bored," he defended his ludicrous attempt at folding, his lower lip sticking out in a pout she was all-too-familiar with; he was such a child sometimes.

She shook her head at his antics before deciding to broach the subject she had come to discuss. "Since you apparently have little to occupy yourself with, perhaps you have time to explain how this came to be in my home?"

She allowed him to see the buckle she held in her palm and he swallowed nervously, cursing himself for his own stupidity. _Of course_ she would find the belt buckle he had dropped in her house – and couldn't find afterwards – and _of course_ she would recognise it as his.

"Well, uh…it's obvious," he said with false confidence colouring his words as he mustered the courage to meet her gaze, "The rats are to blame."

He almost cowered before the sight of her raising a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. "The rats?"

"Of course," he maintained, "they must have stolen it from my chambers and brought it to your house, the little pests."

She fought the urge to fall to the ground and roll all over the floor in fits of uncontrollable laughter; his attempt at weaselling his way out of this predicament was as endearing as it was ridiculous. Elyan – unable to hold his ground for long under her interrogation – had already told her everything he knew and while Gwen had been rather scandalised by Arthur's impropriety, she had also found it somewhat heart-warming.

"I see," she said at length and Arthur knew she had seen right through his – admittedly, very poorly chosen – lies. She gently rested the buckle atop the covers before giving him a small smile. "I suppose rats are craftier than any of us give them credit for."

"It would certainly appear so," he agreed heartily, painfully aware that he was making a bigger fool out of myself with each passing second.

The corner of her lips was lifted into a knowing, little smile. "For what it's worth," she began softly after a while, "I've missed you too."

She could see his surprise in the slight drooping of his jaw but she could also read confusion and wariness in the minute narrowing of his eyes; it was just like when she had tended to his ills in Gaius' quarters.

She took a cautious step forward; she needed to thread carefully and honestly now, lest she would lose any chance of making things right between them.

"You asked me before what it was that I wanted," she spoke in a calm yet heartfelt voice, "and I understand it might sound…_strange_, given everything I've claimed to want until now, but…what I truly wish for is to return to Camelot; to be with my oldest friends and my family."

His previous expression of doubt and shock seemed to be set in stone and did not waver, making her lose her nerve a little. "I will understand if you refuse to grant me this, of course," she added quickly, now beginning to grow nervous, "I know I've been very - "

"Guinevere," he cut through what was certainly a lengthy babble in the making, making her fall silent immediately. She looked at him uncertainly, a little surprised to realise a small smile had begun to form on his face.

"Of course you may stay," he said softly, "I could never deny you such a request. Besides, there is really nothing that stops you from returning."

"I was banished," she pointed out, her tone heavy with implications; her banishment went hand-in-hand with all heartache she had caused _him_ personally.

His previous smile dimmed. "Your banishment has been revoked; you know that."

"I just want to be sure it won't make you uncomfortable."

He sighed as he considered his next words; it was never easy for him to express his feelings – something that stemmed mostly from a limited emotional vocabulary – but he knew this needed to be said. "When I banished you, Merlin tried to convince me to let you stay…because you had nowhere to go and it would be safer for you here. I said it was best for you to be gone…and I wish I could claim it was for many honourable reasons but, truthfully, it was a decision made out of selfishness. I thought that, if you were away, it would make it easier for _me_ to forget you. Not only did that fail gloriously but it also nearly cost you your life."

His eyes cast downwards in shame and his heart felt it was its duty to remind him of the fear he had experienced upon seeing her collapse outside the council chambers, forcing him to take a moment to recollect himself before proceeding.

"It was a mistake," he spoke again once the moment passed, "Camelot has always been your home and I won't let my selfishness keep you from it again."

Her expression had gone through more emotions than he could count during his speech, until she simply looked hopeful. "Thank you," she said kindly, smiling wider and more genuinely than he had seen her do in a long while.

His shoulders did an odd, little twitch of a shrug and she realised that, while the idea of her returning to Camelot didn't make him uncomfortable, everything he had just told her certainly did. She almost rolled her eyes; he was such an emotionally-stunted man.

"Well, I will ride to Nemeth with Mithian once she returns from Caerleon to gather my belongings," she then said in order to both break the silence and put an end to Arthur's increasingly nervous demeanour. "And I will settle into my old home upon returning here."

"Do you think Mithian will object?" he asked and, unless Gwen was mistaken, he seemed to be dreading such a situation.

"I'm quite certain she'll help me pack herself in order to get me here faster," Gwen reassured lightly, knowing Mithian would probably be more than pleased with the news; after all, she had – subtly or not – been trying to get Gwen to reconsider her decision during the past few months.

Arthur chuckled at that, his mind now put at ease; while he had been quite apprehensive about being in her presence again when her arrival was announced, he couldn't bear the thought of watching her leave again now. She truly made him question his sanity every day.

"And I'm glad you seem to be faring better," she added as an afterthought, gesturing vaguely to the receding redness of his face; she assumed the rest of the rashes and blotches covering his body were healing as well.

"Gaius' remedies do wonders."

"Indeed," she agreed, giving him one last bright smile before deciding it was time to retire for the evening. "I will be seeing you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Guinevere."

As he snuggled under his blankets that night, Arthur found that he couldn't sleep, though his insomnia was not brought on by worries or nightmares this time. In fact, it was hope that kept him awake until almost daybreak. Perhaps Merlin had been right, he realised. Perhaps there was still a chance for him to win Guinevere back without breaking his word to her; it would not be a breach of honour if she gave him permission, right?

Still, he would have to proceed carefully; one small mishap could mean losing her forever. He therefore spent hours planning complex strategies and tactics, finally falling into a short-lived slumber with a small smile of contentment on his face.

* * *

**A/N: Since this was a mushy, let-us-all-talk-about-our-feelings-now kind of chapter, the next one will feature a bit of sword-wielding on our two lovelies' part. I mean, you knew I'd write that one in there, right?**

**Also, let me apologise in advance for the gaps between updates that are about to get increasingly longer; long hours in college and sleepless nights spent memorizing random formulas make yours truly a rather busy girl. **

**That all said, I hope you enjoyed this update :)**


	14. The Craftsmanship of a Swordswoman

_"Come on Gwen, try it," Mithian said as she rose to her feet after having performed a manoeuvre her maid thought to be quite mortifying. _

_It was a rather busy day in Nemeth for the King and Queen as they were dealing with disturbing news of some villages being raided by unknown men, giving Gwen, Mithian and Bren the opportunity to spend more time than usual in the fields beyond the palace. The Princess was very excited to get in some sword practice of her own, leading up to the move Gwen had just witnessed. _

_Mithian had clashed swords – that Bren had had dulled years ago – with the Knight for a while and had, to Gwen's utter disbelief, ended up the sparring session by taking advantage of Bren's wide leg stance, dropping to the ground and sliding through the opening on her back; she then emerged on his other side, spun around on her backside and kicked him in the lower back to force him to the ground. _

_Needless to say, Gwen was absolutely shocked. _

_Bren was grinning as he too got to his feet. "You look positively scandalised," he remarked and wasn't too off mark in his observation; Gwen could not fathom attempting such a move. **Ever**. _

_"I…I…I'm really, uh…" she stuttered as the colour in her cheeks grew; not only would sliding through a man's legs be inappropriate, it could also lead to some very unfortunate…well, **bumps**. _

_"It's quite an unorthodox move," Bren stated calmly, "but, as a woman, you must implement different techniques than men when you fight. Train as you may, your strength will still not equal theirs."_

_"Which is why stealthier and more underhanded methods are necessary," Mithian joined in, "It's all about catching them by surprise."_

_Gwen was still shaking her head adamantly. "I couldn't possibly…" _

_"If you're worried about injuring me," Bren saw right through one of her biggest concerns, "don't be. I've gotten used to it."_

_Mithian nodded to support this. "I've really lost count of the times I've caused him pain while perfecting this technique."_

_Gwen's eyes grew even wider. "I…appreciate the offer but it's…I mean…"_

_She babbled, blushed and refused for the next month or so but Bren and Mithian had finally gotten her to relent. It had taken another two months and quite a few blows to Bren's sensitive areas for her to finally master the manoeuvre but the embarrassment was quite worth it in her opinion; she could hardly wait to test her skills on an unsuspecting opponent. _

A small smile threatened to break forth as she watched Arthur approach the training fields on the morning after the conversation they'd had about her return. Her brother – having had his curiosity piqued by her comments about having trained in Nemeth – had proposed she joined them for practice that morning; after all, you could not be called a worthy fighter until you've faced the renowned Knights of Camelot.

So she had donned a pair of trousers and a shirt instead of a dress that morning and gone to the fields.

Arthur strode up to the already gathered men confidently, intent on making that day's session as gruelling as possible; if the lazy arses thought they could get away with using his indisposition to avoid training unscathed, they were sorely mistaken.

He also had plans for after the training was over; once clean of the stench of sweat, he would casually invite Guinevere for a nice walk around the grounds. They would chat and laugh while he used his charms to get into her good graces again and, if all went well, he could even ask her to join him for lunch. It was going to be a good day.

"Why are you all just standing there?" he asked loudly as he approached, "Pick up your words, you – Guinevere!"

He stopped in his tracks as he noticed her amongst the men; she was dressed in combat attire, along with a blade in her hand. She couldn't possibly mean to train with them, could she?

"Arthur," she greeted calmly, trying not to laugh at his dumbfounded expression.

"My sister will be joining us today if you don't mind, sire," Elyan informed the King, making the latter think the man was joking. Still, the Knight appeared to be absolutely serious so Arthur said the only thing he could.

"Huh?"

"She has been practicing in Nemeth, you see," Elyan explained, "I myself am rather curious to see if she has improved."

"I could take down any man," Gwen declared confidently, mostly just to taunt Arthur's inner soldier. Her skills hardly rivalled his but she knew that, if she played it right, she could defeat him. It was all about strategy. Besides, it would make both Mithian and Merlin's wishes come true.

As predicted, her words irked the proud fighter in Arthur. "Any man, Guinevere?" he queried sceptically, obviously deeming her to be foolish in thinking she could defeat _any_ trained soldier. She could certainly never defeat _him_.

She raised an eyebrow as she took a decisive step forward. "Any man," she repeated and gave him a pointed look, meant to convey that she sorted him in that category as well.

"Even the most skilled swordsman in the kingdoms?"

She fought the urge to grin. _Dance, my puppet_, she thought wickedly. _Dance_.

"Let's put it to the test, shall we?" she proposed as she extended her hand for him to shake, "A friendly match."

Arthur was torn. On one hand, he had no desire whatsoever to fight Guinevere. On the other hand though, such a blatant questioning of his skills was one his pride could not let slide.

He glanced around, seeing expressions of excitement and anticipation on the men's faces; they obviously wished to see this particular fight unfold quite eagerly.

"Very well, then," he accepted as he clasped her arm like he would that of a warrior. She smiled as his hand lingered on her forearm and he felt the overwhelming urge to just kiss her on the spot.

"In your own time," Gwaine commented teasingly, making Arthur realise he had spent quite a few moments simply staring at her.

He cleared his throat as he released her arm and stood in a fighting stance. "Whenever you're ready," he told her as the men took a few steps back, forming a circle around the two fighters.

Gwen's grip on the blade's handle tightened as she raised the sword, preparing to strike.

_"Men will naturally assume that you are no match for them," Bren said he blocked the strikes of her sword, "You must use that to your advantage."_

_"By making them bask in a false sense of security?" she guessed as she angled her blade differently, almost succeeding in lading a blow._

_Bren grinned in approval. "Smart girl."_

She started off with strikes that were child's play for Arthur to deflect, pretending it exerted her more than it really did. It was all about making him believe she was far less skilled than she actually was; as the fight went on, he would become less alert and more careless. Then, she would _truly _strike.

_"Do make them believe you are getting exhausted," Mithian offered her own piece of advice as she toyed with her blade, "It will make them lower their guard even further. Make them take pity on you and turn the tables on them at the last second."_

_Gwen's forehead creased in confusion. "Isn't that a rather dishonourable way to fight?"_

_Mithian smirked. "It would be if there was a code of honour women had to swear to. I suppose we are lucky no one ever thought it necessary to make one."_

Gwen could tell her efforts at feigning exhaustion and clumsiness were paying off; the corners of Arthur's mouth were beginning to twitch into a smirk of pity and condescension and Gwen could simply not wait to knock it right off his face. Still, she had to pace herself; acting on her plan too quickly could have disastrous consequences.

Arthur's movements were getting slower – almost imperceptibly so but for a man of his skills, it was definitely a sign of a lowered state of alertness – and Gwen knew it was almost time for her to put her plan into action.

_"You need them to be in a wide stance in order to make this work," Bren instructed as she prepared to test the infamous move in a fight, "Skilled swordsmen rarely make the mistake of putting themselves in such a vulnerable position…"_

_"…which is why the element of surprise is so crucial," Gwen finished for him, making a proud smile form on his face. _

_"I have taught you well."_

It was clear from Arthur's expression that he believed her capitulation was imminent. The poor fool.

She bolted to the side quickly, causing him to make the one mistake he always warned his trainees about; his left foot went to the side instinctively as he meant to follow her movements while his sword remained in his right hand, offering Gwen the perfect opening. She didn't waste a second as she threw herself on the ground, using the momentum she had gained and the smoothness of the grass to slide right between his legs.

She spun around on her bum, throwing her own legs out and connecting her feet with the back of his knees strongly, causing them to buckle.

He landed on the ground face-first, rolling over on his back just in time to see the tip of her sword hover above his chest.

"Do you surrender, sire?" she asked as he stared up at her in absolute shock, obviously not having yet quite comprehended what had just happened.

The Knights seemed to be in disbelief too, their jaws hanging wide open and their eyes bulging right out of their sockets.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Merlin doing some sort of victory dance in the distance.

Finally, it was Gwaine who broke the silence. "You are the perfect woman," he declared, prompting his fellow Knights to nod their heads in approval dazedly.

The statement seemed to snap Arthur out of his state of his surprise and scramble to his feet quickly. He narrowed his eyes at Gwen. "You don't fight fairly."

"How so?"

"Well, you mislead me to believe your skills were far poorer than they really are; that's quite unfair."

"I really don't see it that way," she countered. "You use your agility, size and strength to your advantage; I use my small stature and the preconceived notion that I am incapable of wielding a sword to mine."

He opened his mouth as if to protest this argument but could apparently find nothing to counter it with, leaving him to make inarticulate noises and point his finger at her in a condemning fashion. Finally, he accepted defeat in the form of a reluctant grumble.

"Well, gentlemen," she spoke again after having basked in the satisfaction of victory sufficiently, "I shall leave you to your training now."

She left the fields then and it wasn't long before Merlin appeared at Arthur's side. "So, defeated by a woman _twice_," he mocked, making sure his tone reminded Arthur of the time Morgause had beaten him in front of the whole of Camelot, "That really can't feel good, dollop-head."

* * *

A few hours later found Gwen in her old home, getting a few things ready for her return. When a knock sounded on her door and she went to greet the visitor, she wasn't the least bit surprised to see Arthur standing there.

"If you've come here to complain about my unfair fighting ways…"

He smiled slightly at the warning and shook his head. "Actually, I was hoping you would join me for a walk," he said smoothly, "I'm really quite eager to hear about how you've learned to fight like that."

Her head tipped to the side sceptically. "So you're not going to ask me to apologise for humiliating you in front of your men?"

He pursed his lips at the question; while a part of him certainly desired retribution, he knew it would kill any chance he might still have with her. For Guinevere, he would endure all the merciless mocking his men were only beginning to inflict on him. "Perhaps another time."

Her eyes grew warm with fondness and he knew he had made the right choice.

"In that case," she said lightly, "I will gladly join you for a walk."

They ventured through the lower town and Arthur's hand simply itched to grasp hers as they strolled through the streets. He was however aware that it would not be the smartest move.

"So, was it Mithian who taught you that…uh…technique?" he asked conversationally, trying not to get too fixated on the image of Gwen sliding between his legs; it was a rather impure thought to dwell on.

"Well, it was Mithian who _showed_ it to me," she replied lightly, "But I practiced it with Bren."

He was about to nod when the words truly registered in his mind. She meant to tell him she had been sliding between Brenner's legs…_repeatedly_?

"Practiced?" he echoed as calmly as he could, feeling his jealousy was starting to rear its ugly head.

"Yes, well, it took me some time to perfect it," she said, either oblivious to his jealousy or undisturbed by it. "A couple of months, actually. A few very unfortunate incidents too."

"What…_kind _of incidents?"

She bit her lip. "I think you can probably imagine what incidents may occur when one attempts to slide between a man's legs."

He momentarily cringed in sympathy to a fellow man's pain before realising the full implications of the statement. That meant she had…well, her head had…possibly her hands too had…collided with…

He was going to kill Brenner. _Slowly and painfully_.

She chanced a look at his face and wasn't surprised to see it was clouded like the sky before a thunderstorm; he was probably entertaining the thought of gutting Bren at the moment.

"I know what you're thinking," she dared to broach the subject, "and I assure you nothing improper happened."

He looked absolutely stunned by the words. "Nothing _im_proper? You are obviously confused as to what the word actually means!"

His eyes widened as he realised what he had just said; his stride came to a halt and his eyes drifted shut. Well, so much for keeping his jealousy under control. "I'm sorry," he apologised as she too stopped walking, "I shouldn't have said that, I…I'm sorry."

She sighed deeply as she moved to stand in front of him; while his outburst was unnecessary, she also believed it was to be expected. She too had been scandalised at the suggestion of doing such a thing when it was first suggested to her and she was actually privy to Bren's true preferences and therefore knew he had nothing but noble intentions; Arthur held no such knowledge.

"He was just teaching me a fighting technique a woman could find useful," she spoke and he was surprised by how calm she sounded, "Nothing more. And yes, it led to some situations many would consider inappropriate but it was just an unfortunate consequence of learning such a manoeuvre; there were no ulterior motives behind it. Not on my part and certainly not on his."

He seemed to find her words to be truthful but was still not fully convinced; the lingering doubt was written all over his face and Gwen knew it stemmed from his belief that Bren was interested in her.

While she knew Bren's secrets weren't hers to share, it didn't mean she couldn't offer Arthur a piece of the truth. "Bren is faithful to another," she began again, "To someone who…died."

Arthur grew sheepish at the revelation; he had spent quite the amount of time imagining ways to inflict pain upon a man who had been living with a loss of the worst kind, the possibility of which haunted Arthur in his nightmares and made him wake up in cold sweats. Well, now he just felt like an insensitive idiot.

"I didn't know about that," he mumbled contritely, making Gwen nod sadly as she recalled the emptiness in Bren's eyes whenever he spoke or thought of Haelan.

"It's not something he talks about much, as you can probably understand. I am only telling you because I want you to get over this ridiculous notion that he and I have an interest in each other."

Her blunt words served to shame him even further. "It is possible that I have misinterpreted the situation," he conceded, not quite daring to meet her eyes.

"So, am I to assume you've finally seen sense?"

He nodded quickly, while mumbling something that sounded vaguely like 'yes, Guinevere'.

"Good. Let's continue with our walk, then."

He was all too happy to resume the stroll, relieved that he had apparently not damaged things beyond repair. His mind was now also put at ease where Brenner was concerned; he knew that – and he dreaded the mere thought of such an occurrence – if he were to lose Guinevere to death, he would never be able to as much as look at another again.

They chatted about more menial topics until they reached the city's walls. Knowing he would gladly prolong their time together as long but possible but mindful of her own possible wishes, Arthur did the sensible thing and inquired about what she wanted to do next.

"I'm getting rather hungry," she said as she rubbed her belly absentmindedly; Arthur saw this as the perfect opportunity to invite her to lunch.

"Why don't you join me for lunch, then?" he suggested as casually as possible, "I would certainly appreciate the company."

His words were spoken lightly but Gwen could read him like a book and simply knew that having her accept his invitation for a meal would mean much more to him than he let on. She also suddenly realised that it would probably be the first time he would share an ordinary lunch with anyone. Before, he would sit and eat with his family but now, his father and uncle were dead and his sister was locked in the dungeons; he probably ate alone every day. She knew he would never invite the Knights or Merlin to sit with him, lest his friends would see the true extent of his loneliness.

With all his accomplishments, he was still so terribly lonely and it made her heart ache for him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked cautiously, noticing her expression had turned sympathetic and a bit pitying too, if he was not mistaken.

"No reason," she said quickly before giving him a reassuring smile, "I would love to join you for lunch."

His resulting grin almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Leon led some of the men hunting yesterday," he told her as they began walking back to the castle, "You know, since they had a lot of free time after having skipped training. Anyway, they've had a very fruitful hunt so the kitchens are preparing quite the meal and I'm sure you'll - "

His voice faltered as he felt her hand gently grasp his arm.

"…find the food to your liking," he finished quietly, his surprise at her gesture evident.

"I'm sure I will," she assured with a soft smile as her fingers rubbed his biceps in feather-light touches. "But it's the company that will make the meal memorable."

What he did next was something he would deny ever transpiring for many years to come; he let out what was probably the male equivalent of a love-struck girl's giggle.

To her credit, Guinevere laughed about it very discreetly.

He led her to the dining hall, where Merlin had already set two plates and a large assortment of various foods.

The warlock grinned as he watched Arthur pull a chair out for Gwen and waited for her to take her seat before taking his own. The scene reminded Merlin of the beginnings of his two friends' romance, when Arthur was desperately trying to impress Gwen and denying it all the while.

His master soon gave him a pointed look and Merlin took that as his cue to leave, shutting the doors behind him. He lingered outside though, crouching down so he was at eye level with the keyhole. The guards raised their eyebrows at him.

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't want to listen in on it too," he said quietly, not wanting to alert Arthur or Gwen to his presence.

Inside the hall, Gwen tried not to smile too widely as Arthur pampered her; he filled her plate with helpings of the very best dishes on display, poured her wine and was – _very_ obviously – trying to impress her. She would be lying if she said it wasn't flattering.

She also noticed he was eating his own food very neatly and slowly, something she knew was probably a very difficult feat for him; she had known him to be a very voracious eater, especially where delicacies such as the ones before them were concerned.

"Do you know if any ladies of the court require a maid's services?" she asked at one point, taking him by surprise.

"Why do you ask?"

She raised her eyebrows, obviously deeming the reason to be obvious. "Well, I do need to find a job if I am to stay here."

His expression conveyed his disbelief. "You don't have to work, Guinevere."

"And how else do you propose I make a living?"

"Uh…"

He faltered in his response, having not thought of the possibility she would actually _want_ to work upon her return as he would be more than willing to see to every financial need she might have. In hindsight, he probably should have expected it. Guinevere would never let anyone pay for her living; she would only ever spend money she herself had earned.

"You weren't thinking of just giving me money yourself, were you?" she questioned and it was obvious from her tone that such a thing would offend her greatly.

"No, of course not," he said quickly, suddenly finding the meat on his plate to be absolutely captivating.

"So?" she prompted again, "Do you know anyone who may require my service?"

He pursed his lips as he tried to come up with the best approach to this delicate matter; as willing as Guinevere may be to work, he was certain no lady in Camelot would hire her.

"Guinevere, I don't think any lady here would give you a job in their household."

Her face fell and he realised she had misinterpreted the meaning behind his words.

"It has nothing to do with your banishment," he assured quickly, knowing this much to be true. Guinevere had always been known as an efficient and trustworthy maid and since he had made sure everyone in Camelot knew about the retraction of her sentence and was to harbour no ill will toward her, any reluctance to hire her would be due to a very different set of reasons. Mainly, her well-known ties to _him_.

"It's just that…uh…well, people may assume that _I_ would see it as an offense if you were given the job of a servant."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh."

She should have seen this coming; a similar predicament had arisen after Uther had passed. Her services as his caretaker were the ones she had been paid for and she – strictly speaking – had found herself without a job once he had died. Arthur had been quick to find her little tasks to accomplish in the palace at the time, but she had still heard the gossip; no one wanted to give her the job of a maid as it was common knowledge that the new King was very fond of her. The lords and ladies of the kingdom feared he might be insulted were they to give his rumoured mistress a job nobles considered to be a degrading one.

She surmised their reluctance would be even greater now, seeing as she had almost been crowned Queen not too long ago.

"Well, perhaps I could do the odd job in the castle," she suggested as Arthur had reverted back to staring at his food, "Like I did before."

Arthur really saw no point in it – he fully expected her to become Queen in a few short months – but part of his wooing strategy was to agree to her every whim so he had no choice. "As you wish."

She knew he would rather argue with her wishes than simply grant them so she found his immediate compliance to be quite endearing. He was trying so hard, bless him.

"Thank you," she said as she put her hand over his gently, wanting him to know that the gesture meant a lot to her.

He looked surprised at the contact, much like he had previously during their walk, but smiled nonetheless.

It would seem his efforts were paying off.

* * *

**A/N: Does anyone else feel the need to rant about 5x06? Because - and do excuse the swearing - HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT!**


	15. The Flaws in the Logic of Men

**A/N: I know that - given the current canon - you all mostly just want to see some mushy Arwen right now and while there is really not much of it in this chapter, the update is still necessary to shape the kind of Queen Gwen is going to be in this story. Also, I'm one of those nutty pacifists who think the logic behind war is a fundamentally flawed one, so...*shrugs***

**Anyway, I do hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

With the rising sun came surprising news from the scouts; Princess Mithian's party was approaching Camelot once more, some days sooner than expected.

Arthur was in the courtyard to greet them and so was Gwen. She couldn't help but feel uneasy at Mithian's premature return from Caerleon; she knew the Princess to be a skilled diplomat but the trading negotiations would have lasted for a couple of days more, surely.

The party appeared in the square and Gwen's suspicions were confirmed as she took note of the riders' faces; something had happened in Caerleon.

"Princess," Arthur greeted as he helped her dismount, "I wasn't expecting your return for a few more days."

The smile she gave him was polite but obviously forced. "It took less than anticipated to strike a deal that pleased us all, yes."

Gwen heard the words but her attention was not on the Princess. Her eyes were trained on Bren as he left his saddle with force, his expression dark and his posture that of barely restrained anger. She began walking toward him, wishing to inquire about whatever it was that was troubling him but he paid her no attention, moving past her as though she were invisible and leaving her to stare after him in astonishment.

Her eyes slowly moved to Mithian, who sighed deeply before forcing another smile. "Ah, Gwen," she said, her tone of delight so painfully faked, "I'm in dire need of freshening up; I've had quite the tiring journey."

Gwen's eyes narrowed slightly but she played along nonetheless. "Of course," she obliged as she gestured for the Princess to follow her. They made their way through the castle in silence and it was only after she shut the chamber doors behind them that Gwen spoke up.

"What happened in Caerleon?"

Mithian's shoulders slumped as she ran a weary hand over her face. "It's quite the story," she muttered, sighing deeply before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Do you remember what Bren told you of Haelan's death?"

The inquiry took Gwen by surprise; she knew whatever events had transpired in the neighbouring kingdom had put Bren in a sour mood but she failed to see what it had to do with Haelan. "He was killed fighting bandits on Nemeth's northern borders," she said slowly, rehashing the story she had been told.

Mithian pursed her lips. "They weren't bandits," she said at length, "Everyone only thought they were because they wore no colours or marks of any kingdom."

The pieces were slowly beginning to fall into place. "They were Caerleon's men, weren't they?" Gwen asked sadly, receiving a confirmation to her assumptions as Mithian nodded.

"Sir Garrick recognised one of the men as soon as we arrived," the Princess began relaying the entire story, "He is one of the few who returned that day. Annis, of course, was quite mortified to hear of this. She is headstrong and unyielding but fair at heart. Her husband, on the other hand, was a greedy man."

Gwen nodded, knowing this to be true. The late King had wasted little time to try and take advantage of Arthur's inexperience after the latter had been crowned.

"He was testing Nemeth's defences," she concluded, not even needing Mithian's nod of affirmation to know that she was right.

"His own father ruled with a strong hand but was quite content with the lands he had," Mithian went on, allowing her tired body to drop into a nearby chair, "He made reluctant peace with the other kingdoms and kept out of their business as long as they kept out of his. Annis' husband, it would appear, thought his father to be foolish in doing so. As soon as he was crowned, he began construing plans to conquer the other kingdoms. Nemeth was the first he targeted, I believe. We always had a reputation of having the weakest army so I suppose he thought us to be the easiest target."

"It was why your mother and father were looking forward to an alliance to Camelot through your marriage," Gwen recalled something the Princess had told her once. The subject of Nemeth's military prowess – or lack thereof – had arisen at one point and Mithian had explained that her parents had seen her marriage to Arthur as a way to strengthen the kingdom's defences.

"Precisely. Caerleon never did move on Nemeth but I daresay it's only because Arthur killed him before his forces were fully gathered."

Gwen's lip curled in distaste as she recalled the time Arthur had killed the King of Caerleon; it had certainly not been one of his finest moments. Quite frankly, she was still surprised Annis had forgiven him.

"Did the Queen know of her husband's plans?" she asked as her thoughts focused on the woman she had only come to know through Arthur and Mithian's descriptions.

"She assured me she knew nothing of it but I have no way of being certain. She did seem genuine in her apologies, though."

"She wouldn't be the first Queen to be kept in the dark where matters of warfare are concerned."

"Quite true," Mithian agreed, "My mother is usually privy to everything that transpires in the kingdom – as am I – but not every King is as appreciative of a woman's perspective as my father is."

Gwen acknowledged this with a nod before taking a seat next to the Princess. "I assume Bren didn't react to the news kindly, no matter how profusely Annis apologised."

Mithian drew in a deep breath. "He was enraged, as you can imagine," she said sadly, "He wanted retribution; all the men did but he was the most insistent."

"Understandably so. The others lost friends and brothers in arms but he lost so much more."

Mithian's head bobbed up and down slowly and it wasn't long before her eyes began filling with tears. "I forbade it," she told Gwen quietly, "I forbade any retribution to be sought for our men's deaths."

Gwen's eyes widened. "I certainly understand his foul mood now."

Mithian seemed to believe Gwen's words were those of disapproval and her eyes turned to those of her friend, pleading for her to understand. "I had no choice, Gwen. Caerleon is our ally now; the treaty was struck months ago. Any past wrongdoings are to be forgotten after peace is made, you know that. And…what grounds would I have to seek retribution now? Or would Annis have to punish her men? They followed the orders of their King, as any Knight does. If my father had given orders to attack Caerleon, Bren would have gone and done the same as the Knight who took Haelan from him did."

Gwen had meant to reassure the Princess that she understood her perfectly and that she would not condone more bloodshed either; honouring the dead with more death was something she was rather against. The words of comfort died on her lips as Mithian's speech went on, though.

It was the word of Kings that mobilised armies and pitted men against each other, as the Princess said. Yet, those men were not one another's enemy; at heart, they were the same. They swore allegiance to their ruler and followed the crown loyally, something that often times lead to death and devastation of grand proportions.

She had never questioned this before. She was a child of Camelot and it was Camelot that she considered to be right, no matter the nature of the quarrel. Those the King proclaimed to be enemies were just that and no tears were spilled over their loss, only over that of fellow countrymen. Still, she had grown since her departure, had seen more of the world and – as Mithian's tearful words reached her mind – she now realised she had been wrong.

One word from King Rodor would have put the Knights of Camelot against those of Nemeth; one word and Bren – who she had come to consider as a second brother - would have gone to battle against her friends, her brother by blood…against Arthur. Some short years ago, this would not have caused her inner conflict; now, however, was a different story. She had met the Knights of Nemeth and knew them to be as honourable, loyal and worthy of esteem and affection as the fighters of her homeland. If those were the measures of respectable men, then they were all equals.

And to kill one's equal was no mark of honour.

Unable to find any words of consolation for the Princess, Gwen settled for embracing the other woman strongly, rubbing soothing circles across her back as she cried about having let her best friend down.

* * *

Arthur had never been the most observant person but even he noticed the tense atmosphere in the dining hall as the Princess and her companions were seated for lunch. He also noticed that Brenner had not joined them for this meal.

Nemeth's party picked at their food and kept their eyes on their plates, exchanging very few words with both each other and the hosts. Guinevere seemed to share their sombre mood as well; he really felt like there was some major piece of information he was missing.

He exchanged looks with his Knights, who all appeared just as clueless as he when it came to the cause of everyone's tension. Wishing to put an end to the uncomfortable silence, he asked the first thing that came to his mind.

"Will Sir Brenner not be joining us?"

If possible, they all seemed to tense ever further at the question. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to ask…well, if someone had cared to give him some kind of hint as to what was going on, then he wouldn't be asking all the wrong things!

It was Guinevere who finally broke the silence. "Bren is very appreciative of your hospitality but I'm afraid he has little appetite at the moment; he respectfully declined the invitation."

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly at her very diplomatic answer but still thought it best not to inquire on the subject any further; unless he was mistaken, the Princess seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"Right," he said at length, "Well, uh…um…"

He had no idea what subject would be safe to bring up and he stuttered uncertainly, casting a desperate glance in his men's direction for some possible pointers. They seemed to understand what was asked of them and immediately raked their brains for a suitable topic. Unfortunately for the King, the first that came to everyone's mind was his recent defeat by Guinevere's hand.

"Did you know that Gwen beat Arthur in training yesterday?" Merlin asked a little over-enthusiastically, catching everyone's attention.

Despite the sadness in her eyes, Mithian smiled. "Is that so?"

"Oh yes," Elyan spoke this time, "It was quite fascinating to watch."

Arthur's expression turned sour but he supposed he could endure some more mocking if it was going to lighten the mood.

"I wish I could have seen it," Mithian said regretfully, "True entertainment is so scarce these days."

"It wasn't all that amusing," Gwen demurred but it was obvious she was quite pleased with her accomplishments with the sword.

"Don't be modest; I daresay you've made history yesterday morning," her brother showered her with praise even further, making her blush the faintest bit and causing Mithian to grin fully this time.

"You are very quiet on the subject, milord," the Princess addressed Arthur, "Tell me, was Gwen as victorious as they say?"

It hurt his pride to admit it. "Yes, she was."

Mithian seemed to finally cheer up at this reluctant admission. "I will drink to that," she announced almost happily as she raised her goblet, prompting the Knights to do the same.

Arthur begrudgingly lifted his own cup. "To Guinevere's remarkable fighting abilities," he toasted, making the woman in question blush even further.

"There is really no need to make a big fuss out of it," she muttered quietly but as everyone apparently begged to differ, she had no choice but to sit through a lengthy toast to her newfound skills.

As the meal came to an end, Mithian expressed the desire to retire for the rest of the day, something Arthur found to be quite odd. His curiosity eventually got the better of him and he intercepted Guinevere in one of the hallways as she was bringing some refreshments to Mithian's appointed quarters a few hours later.

"Arthur," she said a touch warily as he blocked her path, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"There is, actually. I really hate to pry, but what on Earth is going on?"

She shifted a little uncomfortably. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play the fool, Guinevere. Mithian is out of sorts, Brenner is drinking himself stupid in the tavern as far as Sir Leon tells me and - "

"Bren is in the tavern?" she cut through his words rather anxiously; she seemed to believe this was cause for worry.

"Yes," he said slowly, "Apparently, he's been there ever since he arrived to Camelot. His bill alone is going to cover the innkeeper's annual taxes, I am told."

"Oh, no," she mumbled as she dashed past him, not bothering to present him with any sort of explanation before disappearing into Mithian's chambers.

He huffed in annoyance before following her and knocking rather strongly on the door. She took quite the time to open it.

"That's it," he proclaimed as he crossed his arms, "I am the King of Camelot and I demand an explanation."

She raised an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed by his interrogation tactics and his stern posture faltered slightly. "If you would be so kind as to provide me with one," he added in a smaller voice.

Guinevere still did not speak but glanced over her shoulder at Mithian; the latter nodded and the door was opened wider for Arthur.

"Do come in, milord."

Arthur cringed internally at her cold tone but entered the chambers nonetheless, his gaze resting on a clearly upset Mithian.

"I apologise for my rudeness, Princess," he began as Gwen closed the door shut, "But you are a guest of my kingdom and if both you and Guinevere seem to think Brenner is going to cause trouble, I think I deserve to know."

Mithian sighed deeply. "You are right, of course," she agreed, "Bren was greatly upset by certain events and I do apologise in advance for any trouble he may have already caused."

She ran a hand over her face as she drew a deep breath. "Gwen tells me he is in the tavern; I shall go speak to him."

"Is that wise?" Gwen asked sceptically, "He is rather cross with you."

"Be that as it may, I am his mistress and he shall do as I say," the Princess stated but her words lacked conviction and it seemed the idea of lowering her relationship with Bren to that of simply a master and subject grieved her greatly.

Gwen's expression softened as she laid a gentle hand on Mithian's shoulder. "I'll go talk to him," she said soothingly, "He might listen to me."

The Princess smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

* * *

Gwen made her way to the tavern with Arthur right by her side.

"I still don't see why you insist on accompanying me," she commented as they walked through the town in the dimming light.

"I've told you already; I want to ensure your safety."

"And I've already told you that you're being silly; Bren won't harm me."

"A drunken man is not always in control of himself…I know that better than most."

His voice was laced with shame and she knew he was talking of the scene he had caused in Nemeth some months ago. She also couldn't dismiss this argument.

"I suppose you make a fair point," she conceded as they came to a stop in front of the tavern. She steeled herself before crossing the threshold.

Her eyes landed on Bren almost immediately. Then again, he was hard to miss, seeing as he was engaged in a shouting match with one of Camelot's Knights.

"You calm Sir Ranulf down," she told Arthur as they approached the pair in fast strides, "And I'll deal with Bren."

He nodded curtly and came to a stand just behind Brenner, who had his back to him. "Sir Ranulf," he addressed his man strongly, cutting one of his rebuttals short. The entire tavern seemed to follow the Knight's example; after all, it was not often that the King himself made an appearance in the establishment.

Bren spun around, his stance a tad unsteady, and fixed Arthur with a mocking look. "If it isn't the great King of Camelot!" he slurred loudly and Gwen cringed; if he didn't have everyone's attention before, he certainly did now.

She glanced around, biting her lip as she saw the customers' expressions. Bren was one small slip away from insulting their King and Gwen was certain they would show him no mercy if an offence passed his lips.

"Bren, please calm yourself," she told her friend softly as she moved between him and Arthur, "There is no need to cause a scene. I know you're upset but don't take it out on these men; they are not the ones who wronged you."

His scornful look wavered and was soon replaced by one of hurt and sorrow. "The ones who have will never pay," he said angrily as he gritted his teeth, his pain obvious for everyone to see.

Gwen nodded in understanding. "I know. But this will solve nothing. You're a smart man, Bren; you know this will not ease your pain."

She had kept her voice low, unwilling to give the many wandering ears any fodder for gossip. Her voice of reason seemed to be reaching his mind and she went on with more conviction as she took hold of his hand. "I know how you feel – I know it very well – but you will not honour Haelan by disgracing yourself or shedding more blood. Come with me and we'll talk."

At length, he nodded and allowed her to drag him out of the tavern. She mouthed silent words of gratitude to Arthur as she walked past him, which he acknowledged with a small tilt of his head.

Gwen led Bren to her house, lighting a few candles before she went about making him a concoction – a little trick she had picked up while assisting Gaius over the years – to help him with his inebriation.

He kept quiet as she mixed the ingredients, his eyes remaining on his hands even as she placed a goblet in front of him.

"The taste is foul," she said as she seated herself at the table as well, "but it does wonders."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as his fingers tapped against the side of the goblet. "I've made quite a fool out of myself, haven't I?"

She shrugged. "I've seen worse."

"Well, I'm not sure anyone could quite top Arthur's performance in Nemeth."

"He always was an overachiever," she agreed with a nod before her tone grew more serious. "I know you're upset," she then began in a calm, soothing voice, "and I know you want to kill those men who took Haelan from you but – and you will probably be cross with me too for saying this – the Princess was right to forbid it. It would have only brought more senseless bloodshed and it _is_ also true that they were following their King's orders; cruel orders for certain but it is a Knight's duty to obey his King."

His head lifted slowly, allowing her to see the tears that had formed in his eyes. "I know," he admitted, "And it's what angers me the most. I…I would have done the same, I…if Rodor had told me to do so, I would have gathered my brothers and come here; I would have slit Arthur's throat given the chance and I would have caused _you_ the same pain that was caused to me."

She kept quiet as the words poured out of him, her own eyes beginning to glisten at the hitch she could hear in his voice.

"And all for what? The sullied name of a Princess?"

He shook his head with distaste as a few tears managed to evade his control and slipped down his clenched jaw. "I lost Haelan because of one man's greed. I will die alone because a self-entitled King thought it was his right to claim the lands of another's kingdom."

His hands balled into fists against the table. "And I can't even fault those who took him because I am just like them; I have caused the same pain as they. I am as bad as them!"

His fist came down upon the table, rattling the worn piece of furniture and making Gwen jump slightly. She allowed her own tears to fall as her hand slowly came to rest atop his clenched one.

"You are not a bad person, Bren," she told him with certainty, "You have a kind and loving heart…but so do those men you despise now. Perhaps not all of them, but they do have families and loved ones; they matter to someone. So, in that way, you are like them…you are like any Knight who pledges allegiance to a King, no matter the kingdom he lives in."

"Indeed. And I have taken lives of such men…I have killed those who are – for lack of better words – my kind."

She nodded along sadly, having come to the same regretful conclusion earlier in the day. "The logic of men is a flawed one," she said simply, knowing the words offered no comfort but also aware that there was little comfort to be found in this situation.

He sniffled as he acquiesced to the truth behind her words. They both fell silent for some time afterward as Gwen ran her thumb over his knuckles in hopes of easing his hurt with the gesture; his ragged breathing slowed steadily and he finally drank the preparation she had presented him with, his entire face scrunching at the revolting taste.

"One more thing you are right about," he said as the bitterness of the beverage lingered in his mouth, "The taste is foul indeed."

Her lips curved into a small smile just as a knock sounded at the door. She wiped the imprints of tears on her cheeks hastily and as she moved to greet the visitor, she saw Bren do the same.

As she pulled on the knob, she came face to face with Mithian. The Princess looked as distraught as before but there was a glimmer of hope in her expression. "I was hoping to speak to Bren," she said hesitantly as her eyes moved past Gwen and focused on the Knight, "If he would see me, of course."

Bren regarded her impassively for a moment but a small smile soon broke forth and he motioned for her to come closer with a small incline of his head. She rushed inside immediately and seated herself next to him, taking one of his hands in hers.

Gwen wished to give them privacy and stepped outside her house, catching a glimpse of the two hugging tightly just as the door closed shut. She began walking toward the castle and spotted Arthur standing only a few feet in the distance.

She smiled as she approached him. "Thank you for bringing Mithian to him; they have quite a few things to sort out."

"I gathered as much," he said with a small nod, "The Princess told me they had quarrelled and was torn because of it. Of course, I still don't know what the _source_ of the quarrel was…"

"If Mithian didn't tell you, then neither will I."

"Oh well, it was worth a try."

She rolled her eyes at him.

His mouth quirked at the corner. "Shall we?" he inquired courteously as he offered his arm for her to take and she chuckled lightly before slipping her hand past the crook of his elbow.

"Lead the way."


	16. The Lessons of the Past

**A/N: I apologise in advance for the utter cheesiness at the end. I'm overcompensating.**

* * *

"I will miss you," Mithian said a little sadly as she watched Gwen bustle around her room, gathering the essentials she was to carry back with her to Camelot.

"I will too," Bren added from his position on Gwen's bed, where he was lounging casually.

The soon-to-be reinstated citizen of Camelot smiled fondly at them both. They had made peace with each other following the events of Caerleon and had made the journey to Nemeth in an amicable mood. They were now keeping her company as she tried to decide which load was worth dragging all the way back to the other kingdom and which was not.

"And I will miss both of you," she told them warmly, "But it's not like we won't be seeing each other anymore; you know you are always welcome in Camelot and I can certainly visit here as well."

"Oh no, please, we will be the ones to come to you. We would never want _the Queen_ to be kept from her duties on our behalf."

Gwen rolled her eyes at Mithian's teasing; ever since she had shared her intentions of returning to Camelot with the Princess and Bren, they had both been relentless in their joking.

"I think you may be getting a bit ahead of yourself," she tried to moderate Mithian's certainty but the Princess remained firm in her convictions.

"Oh, don't even bother."

"I'm serious. Nothing is certain yet," Gwen maintained before her eyebrows drew together. "Although, I do believe Arthur is courting me."

"You _believe _he's courting you?" Bren echoed in amusement, making Gwen shrug.

"Well, he hasn't said it in so many words…I think he meant for it to be implied."

The Knight chuckled. "Who needs jugglers and fools when the two of you are around for entertainment?"

Mithian seemed to be more intrigued by the words than Bren. "Oh," she let out slowly as she pieced it together, "He thinks he's being smart, the poor thing."

"What do you mean?" Bren asked curiously, shifting on the bed so he could get a better view of Mithian.

"Because he gave Gwen his word that he wouldn't bother or seek her out or whatever that pile of rubbish was," the Princess said as she waved a dismissive hand through the air; Gwen had to smile at her calling Arthur's great moment of nobility a 'pile of rubbish'.

"So now, he's trying to _keep_ his word _while _still attempting to woo her," the Princess went on as her head tilted from one side to the other in consideration, "It's actually quite…either endearing or sad, I'm still undecided."

"Yes, that does sound like something Arthur would find clever," Gwen agreed as she sorted one of her finer dresses in the pile she was to bring with her.

"Whatever the workings of his mind may be, I think we can all agree that he wants you back," Bren commented, "The question is, do you want the same?"

Gwen's lips pulled into a wide smile. "You know, I actually do."

Both Mithian and Bren's jaws dropped.

"Well, that's quite the change of heart," Mithian observed after a moment; while she knew Gwen was once again softening to Arthur, she didn't imagine her mind had already been made. "What brought it on?"

Gwen shrugged noncommittally. "A stubborn heart, a dragon, a very charming man and quite a convincing friend."

"A_ dragon_?"

"Never mind."

"Dragon or no dragon, I still don't think he deserves you," Bren made his opinion known, causing Mithian to sigh and Gwen to shake her head slightly.

"You hold me to absurdly high standards, Bren," Gwen told him with affection, finding his constant string of praise and compliments quite heart-warming.

"I disagree," he countered firmly, "I hold you to high standards, yes. But you have earned that place in my eyes with your every act of kindness and word of wisdom."

"Quite true," Mithian agreed wholeheartedly, "You are a woman who commands respect…_milady_."

"Still not a lady," Gwen grumbled.

"You will be soon enough; in two months' time – perhaps three – if I am not mistaken. Actually, you will be the lady who trumps _all _ladies."

Gwen rolled her eyes at Mithian's enthusiasm, wishing she could simply enjoy the feeling of being the destined Queen of Camelot. In truth, it was not the weight of the crown that burdened her; Merlin had been quite right before as she had indeed come to terms with it a long time ago.

She smiled ruefully as her thoughts drifted back to the unlikely source of her acceptance.

_Gwen sat on the stone steps warily, knowing she had only a few precious moments of peace before she would need to tend to Uther again. The King's mind had left him months ago, ever since Morgana had betrayed him…had betrayed them all. Gwen took a moment to wonder where her old mistress was now; about five months had passed since her disappearance and no word had been heard from her. She could be dead for all they knew. Somehow, Gwen doubted that; she had a feeling Morgana was far from finished. _

_Releasing a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself for another afternoon of looking after the ill King. It brought her no joy to see him in such a pitiful state, mostly because she knew it grieved Arthur terribly. He had come to her, pleading for her to care for his father; she was the only he would entrust with the task, he had told her. His faith in her gladdened her heart but, as the King's health grew worse, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the day his final breath would finally leave him, for that meant Arthur would henceforth bear his crown. That, in itself, was not the problem; she was rather looking forward to it, actually. No, the problem rested in Arthur's plans for **her**; he hadn't come right out and said it but she knew – from his unwavering promises for change – that he intended to marry her. _

_She would be Queen. Her, the serving girl…she would be Queen. The idea frightened her now more than ever, seeing as it looked more likely to happen than it ever did before. She dared not voice her concerns to Arthur for fear that she would burden him even further; between his ill father and treacherous sister, he already had enough on his plate. So she kept quiet, plastering a smile of reassurance for her love while trying to battle her doubts on her own._

_"Seeing you outdoors has become a rare sight," Lancelot commented as he too seated himself on the cold stone, giving her a small smile. _

_She returned the gesture fondly; he had become a fine Knight, as she always knew he would. He had come to see his life's ambition fulfilled and she felt nothing but happiness for him. _

_"Taking care of the King takes a lot of time," she said simply, making him sigh in sympathy._

_"You do Arthur a great service by taking care of his father. He's lucky to have you."_

_She could hear the hint of longing in his voice but decided to ignore; she always did. _

_"I'm just glad I can help," she dismissed the praise as she attempted to sound light-hearted but he seemed to have seen right through her pretences._

_"There's something troubling you, isn't there?"_

_"I'm as troubled as any of us; the King is ill and Morgana is out there…I just worry, is all."_

_"Come on, don't lie to me. We've known each other for too long."_

_She hesitated as she glanced up at his encouraging smile. She didn't want her words to ever reach Arthur but Lancelot wouldn't say anything if she asked him not to; she had met very few men who could rival his honour. _

_"There is a matter that troubles me, yes," she admitted after a long pause, her tone cautious and hesitant. _

_Lancelot nodded, silently prompting her to continue. _

_She did so after a deep breath, feeling somewhat relieved to finally share her concerns with someone. "No one is willing to say it, but it's obvious Uther will not be King for much longer."_

_Again, Lancelot nodded slowly. "Arthur may refuse to believe it, but his father will leave him sooner than he would have liked," he agreed before tipping his head to the side. "Is it the thought of his death that troubles you?"_

_"Not…really," she said tentatively, beginning to twist her fingers, "It's what will happen after that worries me."_

_His eyebrows shot upwards. "You mean Arthur becoming King?" he asked, obviously surprised by the reason behind her worries, "I thought no one would be happier than you to see him wear the crown."_

_"I am happy," she assured quickly, "I mean, I **will** be happy, it's just…I'm not worried about Arthur's future, or Camelot's..."_

_She bit her lip as she willed herself to press on. "Ï…I just wonder…I wonder what **my **fate will be."_

_His eyes warmed instantly as his previous smile returned. "You will be Queen," he said simply, his voice carrying both fondness and reverence as he regarded her softly._

_She inhaled sharply. "Possibly."_

_"**Certainly**," he countered firmly but furrowed his brows at the look of mild fear that crossed her face. "Do you not want to be Queen?" he queried, apparently disbelieving of such a prospect._

_She bit her lip. "That's not quite it. I…"_

_"Are you afraid of the responsibility it brings?" _

_"In a way. I'm not afraid of responsibility, I'm afraid I…won't know how to handle it."_

_His features relaxed in understanding before he shrugged. "I think you'll be able to handle it quite well."_

_"But, I'm a servant," she said uncertainly, "I know the ways of the court and I know how to deal with nobles but I was still raised as nothing more than a serving girl; Princesses are trained their whole lives to be Queens, they are taught how to bear the crown. I have only ever been taught how to serve others."_

_His head tilted from one side to the other as he considered her words. "Well, then why don't you think of being Queen as serving as well?" he suggested, "Instead of tending to just one lady - or one King, as the case is now – you will be tending to an entire kingdom. It will be your job to see to their needs, to make them happy; a servant to the people of Camelot."_

_He smiled at the expression on her face and it was infectious, for she felt a smile of her own break forth. _

_She could indeed see it that way. She would not be stepping into a role foreign to her world, she would merely be promoted; to a caretaker, a watchful eye that looked after the citizens of her land._

_She chuckled as his smile turned into a wide grin. "You're quite a wise man, Lancelot."_

_"And you, Gwen…you will be a great Queen."_

_Lancelot_, she thought sadly. It was almost ironic, for him to be the one who had eased her worries. He had wanted to see her on the throne, had stepped aside so she could be with Arthur.

It was also what made his unbothered attitude in regards to their fateful meeting in the throne room all those months ago confusing but she supposed that, after everything he had been through, she couldn't quite fault him for acting oddly. It also pained her to know that she had been the one to drive him to sacrificing himself and going through such an ordeal in the first place.

She shook her head. It would do her no good to dwell on the past.

She knew she would be able to make a decent Queen; it was the – though minimal - uncertainty of her relationship with Arthur that troubled her still.

But Merlin was right; she needed to be sure and she would give it another chance, if only not to have any regrets.

* * *

She arrived back in Camelot a few days later, accompanied by Bren. Mithian had insisted their friend ensure her safety during her travels and, while Gwen thought it unnecessary, she also knew that arguing with the Princess would be more trouble than it was worth.

She smiled as she spotted Arthur in the courtyard, ready to greet her.

"One would think the King has more important things to do than welcome a serving girl back to his kingdom," she commented as she dismounted, making him shrug.

"Not really, no," he said as he gestured for the stable hand to tend to the horses. "It's a rather uneventful day."

"And he's also been counting the hours until your return," Merlin supplied as he to approached the arriving party, nodding politely at Bren before giving Gwen a hug. "Then again, we all have been," he added as he released her, making her smile widely.

"So have I," she assured them as she took a moment to glance around; she was finally home.

"You've been counting the _minutes_," Bren pointed out as came to a stand next to the other three and bowed his head to Arthur. "Your Highness."

"Sir Brenner," the King greeted and Gwen was pleased to see that his voice was amicable for once, "I must thank you for keeping Guinevere safe during her journey here."

"I would not have allowed her to go alone even if the Princess hadn't insisted," Bren said, dismissing Arthur's gratitude with a casual flick of his hand, "She sends her regards, by the way."

Arthur nodded. "Please make sure to send her mine when you return to Nemeth as well."

Gwen smiled at them before announcing that she had quite a bit to sort out now that she was back in Camelot and Merlin immediately offered to help her with all the baggage she had brought along. The two of them soon went on their way, their hands full of numerous bags as they chatted lightly, leaving Bren and Arthur alone.

"You are welcome to spend the night here," Arthur said after a moment of rather awkward silence, "I'll have one of the guest chambers prepared for you."

"There is really no need. I will wait for my horse to rest and say my goodbyes to Gwen before I leave, but I shall be on my way before dusk."

Arthur acknowledged this with an incline of his head, debating whether he should speak what was on his mind or not; finally, he decided he could give it a try.

"I've also wanted to apologise," he began tentatively, choosing to look in the direction Guinevere and Merlin had disappeared into rather than in Brenner's. "I didn't have the highest opinion of you and I was mistaken; I'm sorry to have misjudged you."

Bren almost chuckled. "Don't be too hasty in your apologies; I _still_ don't have the highest opinion of _you_."

Arthur looked somewhat stunned. "Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, I think you are quite a remarkable King but it is the way you acted toward Gwen that makes me doubt your worth."

"I have come to regret my actions greatly."

Bren observed him studiously, seeming to be weighing the extent of the other man's sincerity. "Well, as long as you've learned your lesson," he said at length, "Gwen always tells me that I am wrong in doubting you; she says you had every right to banish her. Perhaps she is right; perhaps my judgement is clouded by the love _I _have lost. I know that, given the chance, I would do anything to have them by my side again and I never would have discarded them over a mistake."

Arthur pursed his lips as the memories of Guinevere lying in a bed, suffering from an injury from his own arrow, came to his mind. "I dare not imagine how I would feel if I had lost Guinevere," he admitted, "She almost died by my hand and I wanted nothing more than to take back everything I had said to her."

"Hmm," Bren muttered as he listened to Arthur's heartfelt words, "perhaps I have misjudged you too. I suppose I should apologise now as well…for giving you the impression that I was interested in Gwen."

"You did that on purpose?"

"Well, yes; I tend to enjoy causing trouble to conceited royals."

Arthur snorted. "You would get along really well with Gwaine."

"He does seem like the kind of man I could do business with," Bren agreed before his features took on a more serious note. "I know I am only a Knight and you a King but do heed my words; kingdoms rise and fall, they are built and torn apart in the blink of an eye. In the mess that is our world, it is only love that leaves a lasting imprint. Cherish it, for no power will ever bring you the same amount of joy."

"I know," Arthur assured him, "All this…Camelot, my crown…it means nothing to me without Guinevere. I was wrong to think I could ever be without her," he confessed, his eyes growing unfocused for a moment before he recollected his bearings. "And I don't mind you speaking your thoughts," he added, "I believe it's a man's wisdom that counts, not his rank."

Bren now looked both impressed and annoyed. "I'll be damned," he said with reluctance, "Gwen was right about you."

"She is usually right about everything."

"She is a very wise woman," Bren agreed with a nod. "Make sure to look after her."

"I will."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to spend some more time with Gwen before I leave."

* * *

After a warm goodbye in the courtyard, Bren took his leave some hours later. Gwen watched him go with a twinge of sadness; she would miss the times she had spent with him and Mithian. Her nostalgia could do little to put a damper on the joy she felt for being home at last, though.

This had seemed impossible only a few months ago; she had thought she would never set foot in Camelot again – unless it had to do with Mithian's state visits – after settling in Nemeth, much less entertain the thought of being with Arthur again.

There was always hope, she used to say. Of course, her optimism had waned since - having been ripped to shreds by a ruthless tyrant, a treacherous friend, a fickle man and an uncertain heart – but perhaps she was mistaken in coming to believe hope was only praised by fools. It would certainly seem the old adage she was once so fond of remained true despite it all.

"If you don't have any plans," she heard Arthur speak from behind her, "there is something I would like to show you."

She turned around curiously, wondering what he was up to this time. It could be either thrilling or perilous, really. A statement of this variety had once led her to a house filled with candles and a ring waiting for her; another time, it had led to Arthur showing her a dead rat Merlin had failed to spot and dispose of. A long speech about his manservant's incompetence had ensued too.

"As long as it doesn't involve any decomposing rodents," she said lightly as she followed him inside the palace, starting to grow confused when they took the path leading to a set of counsel chambers that had long ago been abandoned. Gwen had ventured there once, naturally curious to see the large space Uther had discarded during his reign; its old splendour was still palpable even under layers of dust and cobwebs.

Of course, this had been many years ago.

He paused in front of the closed doors, dismissing the guards with a nod.

"Why are there guards posted in front of these chambers?" she asked as she watched the two men in chainmail strut down the corridor. "They haven't been used since before I began working in the palace."

Arthur smiled with something akin to boyish excitement. "True. But I've found them a new purpose during these past few months."

She realised what he was going to show her even before he pushed the doors open with a dramatic flourish. The news of the changes King Arthur had been making to his father's traditional ways had resonated throughout the kingdoms and Gwen had heard them all; she also knew there was only one amongst those innovations that could bring this kind of merriment out of him.

The rumours of the infamous Round Table spoke of both its values and beauty but as her eyes landed on the centrepiece of the spacious chamber, Gwen thought none of them did it justice. It was larger than she had imagined, carved out of the finest wood and – as the windows allowed for the sun to bathe it in light – the Pendragon crest in its centre glittered in gold.

She smiled as she let her fingertips brush the ends of the simmering dragon's wings, idly wondering what Kilgharrah had been busying himself with since she had last seen him.

"It's beautiful," she told Arthur, her voice filled with awe. Her reaction seemed to make his grin grow even wider.

"Thought you might like it."

"Is this where you sit?" she asked after having circled the table slowly, coming to stand behind a chair that was just a bit more grandiose than the others.

"It is," Arthur confirmed as he stepped closer to her, "Leon sits here," he then proceeded to inform her as he pointed at the chair to his own one's immediate right, "Percival and Gwaine next to him. Your brother sits here," he went on, resting his hands on the back of the third seat to the left of his.

"And who sits here?" she queried with curiosity, gesturing towards the two empty spaces between his chair and Elyan's.

His smile dimmed slightly. "This one," he began, motioning toward the seat right next to Elyan's, "is where Lancelot would sit, were he still here. It is empty and it will remain so until someone who can match his nobility and bravery joins us."

"Then it might just remain empty forever," she spoke sadly, feeling a few tears prickle her eyes.

She saw Arthur nod before her vision blurred further and she quickly dropped her gaze downwards, willing herself to stop being this emotional; Arthur had meant to make this moment a happy one and she didn't want to have his good intentions go to waste because of her silliness.

"And this one?" she questioned again after a moment's respite, gesturing at the only seat that she still had no explanation for.

"That one is very special," Arthur spoke softly, his hands leaving Elyan's chair as he came nearer. "This," he came to a stand right before her, his fingers dancing across the polished wood in light touches, "is where the Queen will sit."

There was no way for her to respond to that. She knew what both his word and the look he was giving were meant to imply, though; the seat was intended for _her_.

"Of course, there is a chance that it will remain empty too," he added more quietly, "Just as Lancelot's will."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

One of his shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "Because there is only one who could ever sit here," he told her simply, "This seat is meant for her and her alone. If she does not want it, then it will stay forever vacant; no other can take her place."

She struggled to find her voice once again; any lingering doubts over the extent of his forgiveness for her sins were certainly erased _now_.

He didn't say anything further but the look he was giving her was one of expectation – with a slight hint of fear too, unless she was misreading his expression – and she knew they had reached the point of no return; his offer – though phrased indirectly – was on the table and any answer she would give him now would seal both their fates in regards to each other.

She took a deep breath; they were at a tipping point and it was her heart's desires that would mean either their titillation or their doom.

The choice was hers.

"It is not the seat that she will want," she finally spoke again, making him hold his breath, "But the man who would sit beside her."

The air left his lungs in a slow exhale as a smile of hope began to form on his lips; she pressed on.

"And if she must sit at this table – in _this_ spot – to have him," she was almost whispering now, her eyes resting steadily on his, "then she will do so."


	17. The Wisdom of the Old Ways and the New

Arthur lingered by the table even after Guinevere had taken her leave, promising to find him later in the day before rising to her tiptoes and delivering a small kiss on his cheek; he was still smiling at the memory of the gesture.

His fingers brushed against the chair that would soon be hers; though she may not have stated it explicitly, her intent had still been clear. She would be his Queen.

Such an outcome had belonged to the realm of hopeless dreams when the Round Table had first been created; he had been certain he would spend the rest of his reign with _two_ empty seats by his side.

_"Is it just me, or do you have two seats too many?" Merlin queried as he and Arthur were left alone in the newly restored chamber; the table had been brought to Camelot, its circumference augmented and the Pendragon crest added in its middle. The servants had done an excellent job of restoring the room's long-lost grandeur and the carpenters had confectioned chairs to the King's pleasing. Two chairs more than anyone had expected, as Merlin had pointed out. _

_Arthur smiled ruefully. "You are mistaken, Merlin," he said, his voice quiet, "The number of seats is just right."_

_His friend raised his eyebrows. "Either you've had another one of your ideas or Geoffrey did a very poor job of teaching you how to count when you were a boy."_

_"It's the former, I assure you."_

_"Care to elaborate?"_

_Arthur sighed before placing his hands on the back of the first chair. "This one is for the Queen."_

_Merlin's eyes widened in momentary panic. "You're not planning on marrying some Princess again, are you?"_

_"Don't worry, I'm not," Arthur assured and smiled at Merlin's resulting sigh of relief. "But perhaps I should rephrase my previous statement; this is where the Queen **would** sit."_

_His voice was tinged with regret as he said the words and Merlin's previous apprehension turned to sympathy; watching Arthur long for Gwen had always been a painful thing to witness._

_"If Guinevere were here, this is where she would sit," Arthur went on, speaking mostly to himself as his eyes rested on the wooden seat, "But she is not in Camelot and she is not with me; she never will be. So, this seat will serve as a reminder of what I have lost because of my mistakes."_

_Merlin frowned. "I know I've told you were a selfish prat for banishing her but she **did **betray you. You were wrong to send her away, yes; it doesn't mean you must take all the blame."_

_"Oh, but it does, Merlin," Arthur told him sadly, "I thought as you do – I blamed her – but the truth is, I failed to see the part I had played in the affair. I blamed her for it all without truly bothering to question her reasons. And Guinevere always has a reason for doing things, even if she does not know it."_

_"And I'm assuming you got a better understanding of her reasons in Nemeth?" Merlin guessed, having never learned the full extent of the matters Arthur and Gwen had discussed in the neighbouring kingdom; he only really knew that Arthur had made advances and that Gwen had turned him down._

_"Indeed," the King confirmed, "I didn't treat her as well as I should have; I didn't make her understand just how much she meant to me."_

_He sighed as his gaze shifted to the second chair. "But Lancelot did," he went on, "He sacrificed his own life for mine…because she had asked him to look after me. I'm not sure I would have been able to do that, had she asked **me** to protect **him**…to give my life for the only thing that stands between me and the woman I love."_

_"Lancelot's loyalty to both you and Gwen was unparalleled," Merlin said simply, "And very few can ever hope to match his honour."_

_Arthur nodded slowly. "I'd forgotten that," he admitted, "Briefly, but I'd still forgotten. Lancelot was the bravest man I'd ever met and his one mistake is also one I cannot even fault him for."_

_"Because you would have done the same?" Merlin ventured another guess and was once again accurate in his suppositions. _

_"Because I would have done the same," Arthur echoed, "So, this seat will be for Lancelot," he concluded as his hands left the first chair and settled on the second, "it will be here to honour his memory. And it will serve – just as Guinevere's will – to remind me that I must always think before acting. Each one of my actions, every decision I make; they have consequences I may fail to foresee. I will never lose sight of that again."_

"I take it things went according to plan?"

It was once again Merlin who stood before him, only he now sported one of his stupid grins rather than an expression of sympathy.

Arthur chuckled at his manservant. "Things went better than expected, actually."

Merlin positively beamed. "Does that mean there is another wedding to plan?"

"Not just yet," Arthur said but his voice lost none of its previous excitement, "But I do believe it will come soon enough."

"You're welcome."

"I wasn't thanking you, Merlin."

"You should be, you know."

"Why _on Earth_ should I be thanking you for this?"

"Trust me, had it not been for me, you could not even _hope _to marry Gwen now."

"I find that _extremely _hard to believe."

"I'm not as useless as you think. In fact, there are many things you should be thanking me for…more than I can count, really."

"Name _one_."

"One? I'll name a hundred. Why don't we start at the beginning? I was just a wee little thing back then, coming to Camelot for the first time…"

* * *

Merlin's enumeration of his accomplishments – most of which were adamantly contested by Arthur – went on for a good hour. The never-ending speech would have probably lasted a few solid days straight too, had it not been for Sir Leon bursting inside the chamber.

"Milord!" he said hastily, "There is a matter of urgency that requires your presence."

Arthur frowned. The warning bells had not been rung so it must not have been a life-threatening matter but Leon still seemed rather on edge. "What is it?"

"Two druids just arrived to the courtyard," the Knight told him with concern, "A man and a little girl. They are in a bad way, sire."

"Druids in Camelot?" Arthur questioned in disbelief; while he was by no means his father, those with magic would rarely ever turn up in the city. Unless they plotted to kill him, of course.

"Let's go."

It was Merlin who gave the command, much to both Arthur and Leon's surprise. He was out the door before the King could even attempt to remind him of who it was that gave orders, leaving him and his Knight little choice but to run after Merlin.

The first thing Arthur noticed when he stepped out of the palace was Guinevere, hands on her hips and scolding his men.

"Are these the values you are so proud to embody?" she chastised the Knights who stood before her uncertainly, their swords hanging at their sides meekly, "Hostility and prejudice? You make a clearly injured man and girl stand bleeding in the courtyard as nothing but threats pass your lips? And you have the audacity to call yourselves men of honour!"

Arthur cleared his throat as he came to a stand behind Guinevere. "What's happening here exactly?"

Her head craned around at the sound of his question, her brow still furrowed in displeasure. Whatever his Knights had done, it certainly did not sit well with her.

"I assume you've been informed of the druids' arrival?" she queried, waiting for him to nod before barrelling on. "Well, it would appear your men not only refused them help until _the King_ gave them explicit permission, but they also drew their swords at them without any provocation. That little girl is scared out of her mind and they thought it for the best to point a blade at her throat!"

His eyes widened before he too frowned in discontent. "Is this true?" he asked the men, who all looked rather uncomfortable.

"We were only being cautious, milord," Sir Ranulf summoned the courage to speak, "The druids have magic, sire; they are as dangerous as any sorcerer."

"We have made peace with the druid people months ago, Ranulf," Arthur pointed out sternly, "Or have you forgotten my words?"

"Of course not, sire, but - "

"Sorcerers may wish to see Camelot fall but the druids are a peaceful people," he went on without giving Ranulf a chance to get any more excuses in, "They would offer shelter to any of us should we need it and the least we can do is extend them the same courtesy."

The Knights bowed their heads.

"Yes, milord."

"We apologise, sire."

"We understand, Your Highness."

Their jumbled apologies lasted for a few more moments before Arthur dismissed them all with a nod. "Where are the druids now?" he then addressed Guinevere, who seemed rather pleased to see the men receive chastisement.

"I've had Merlin take them to Gaius' quarters. They needed tending to."

He nodded. "Let us go speak with them, then. Something bad must have happened for them to come and seek help here."

They set out for the physician's chambers, arriving just in time to see Merlin tying a bandage around the druid man's forearm. Elyan and Leon were present in the room as well, observing the druids' injuries with grave expressions.

Everyone paused in their movements as Arthur and Gwen stepped inside.

"I am King Arthur," he introduced himself as he approached the two strangers; they were both bloodied and bruised and the little girl was holding to the man's side tightly, making it rather hard for Merlin and Gaius to tend to either's injuries without a great deal of improvisation.

"I know who you are," the man told him calmly, his voice carrying both strength and serenity, "Perhaps even better than _you_ do."

Arthur was stunned by the words but recovered from his surprise quickly; he had become used to people of magic speaking in riddles he couldn't understand for the life of him.

"I would like to apologise for the way my men have greeted you; I would not condone such behaviour towards your people," he said instead of inquiring over the man's meaning, "You will be provided with protection here; no harm will come to you."

"We have not come to seek protection for ourselves," the man replied, "But for those of our kind who are still in peril."

"Were you attacked?"

"Yes," the druid confirmed mournfully, "Bandits attacked our camp, killed everyone in sight. Men, women, children; it mattered not to them."

The little girl sobbed quietly, prompting the man to pat her head gently. "We were the only ones to escape."

Silence fell over the room, as everyone took their hardships to heart.

"That is awful," Gwen was the one to speak first, making the girl's head lift upwards.

"I've seen you in my dreams," she spoke quietly, surprising everyone; no one more so than Gwen herself.

"You have?" she queried curiously, stepping around Arthur to come closer to the girl.

The child nodded, her bright green eyes wide and interested. "You were riding the Great Dragon," she reminisced as she observed Gwen with wonder. The latter smiled as she crouched down so her eyes could be at level with this peculiar girl's ones.

"Tell me more," she asked gently, truly intrigued by the girl's apparent gifts.

"You were flying high above all the trees and mountains," the girl proceeded with her tale as her small hand tentatively touched one of Gwen's curls, "You were smiling…and your neck was bleeding."

"That's…a disturbing thing to dream," Arthur commented before realising the girl and her apparent caretaker might take offense in his words. Before he could make a retraction though, Guinevere spoke up.

"It happened," she said simply.

"What?"

"_What_?"

"WHAT?"

She looked over her shoulder, amused by the utter disbelief she could read on Arthur, Elyan and Leon's faces. Merlin and Gaius didn't seem all that surprised.

"It's a long story," she told them, "One I will tell you later," she added when the three made to speak simultaneously; they closed their mouths immediately.

She turned her attention back to the girl. "Do you often dream of things that come to pass?"

The girl nodded, prompting the other druid to offer an explanation. "She has all the makings of a prophet," he told them, his voice now coloured with respect and worship, "One day, it shall be her word that foretells the destinies of this world."

Gwen smiled slowly. This little girl would soon bestow knowledge to the likes of that which Kilgharrah held; destinies of great men and women, futures of entire lands and nations.

"Well, that makes you very special, doesn't it?" she told the child affectionately, "What's your name, dear?"

"Maerwynn," the girl spoke a tad shyly, obviously not yet accustomed to being so highly praised.

"That is such a beautiful name," Gwen said affectionately, "Mine is Guinevere."

Maerwynn's eyes widened and she cast a quick glance toward her companion, who in turn nodded slowly, as if answering some unspoken question. The affirmation seemed to please her greatly, as she soon grinned widely at Gwen. The latter smiled back as she waited for the reason of the girl's merriment to be revealed. To her disappointment, the revelation never came as Arthur spoke again.

"You said your camp was attacked," he addressed the man, "Why would bandits attack your people?"

The druid sighed heavily. "Men's greed is powerful," he said regretfully, pityingly even, "It drives them to commit the unimaginable. We are known to be a peaceful people; we hold no weapons and we do not fight. But we are also known to possess relics that, while invaluable to our kind, men such as those bandits only see as a source of gold; a scrap of silver here, a glinting jewel there…all can be sold for the money they hold so dear."

"They thought you to be an easy prey," Arthur concluded sadly, repulsed by these outlaws' actions; a few coins were not worth all the blood they had spilled.

"And they were right," the druid said, "We were no match for them."

"Could you not use magic to defend yourselves?" Gwen queried hesitantly, unsure of whether her question was an entirely foolish one or not; she knew very little of the ways of sorcerers and even less of how magic was wielded.

"Blades can be fought with magic, yes; but we are not all powerful enough to counter the weight of so many men intent on slaughter," the druid replied, seeming to take no offense in her query, "I can unhorse one man but there will already be another waiting to run his sword through my back."

She nodded in understanding, fighting her eyes' urge to water. The druid's own eyes soon left hers and focused on Arthur. "You and your Knights should know this better than most, Arthur Pendragon."

His tone was calm, as if though he were merely stating a simple fact. It was perhaps what made the accusation sit even more heavily on the King's conscience.

"I regret all the pain I have caused your people more than I can say," Arthur began and Gwen needn't even look at him to know that he was truly sincere in his apologies, "I had, foolishly, acted upon the orders of my father and - "

The druid raised his hand to halt the speech. "I know it all," he said simply, "I know both your pain and regret. And I am a creature of the Old Religion, Arthur Pendragon; I believe in the word of those who came before Maerwynn. I believe that a time of peace between our kinds will come."

His voice held hope and Gwen couldn't help but admire this man. He – like many of his kind – had suffered much at the hands of Pendragons but had still chosen the path of forgiveness and dreamt of a brighter future. It was a philosophy she was rather fond of.

"But I also believe it is a discussion better left for another time," he went on, "We come to you with a request. The bandits who attacked our camp are not yet finished; they will come for the others, who mostly reside in Lot's kingdom. Lot does not actively oppose sorcery but he is not our friend either; he will do nothing to help. We have come before you to ask protection for those of us who are still in danger."

Arthur pursed his lips. "If I cross his borders with armed men, Lot will see it as reason for war," he said, voicing his thoughts out loud, "But you are right, he will not help. He is as unbothered by the suffering of others as Cenred was."

Gwen glanced over her shoulder to look at him, momentarily lead to believe he meant to refuse the druids help. Such fears were immediately appeased as she took note of his expression; he appeared focused and deliberative, weighing his options.

"We have two choices," he concluded at length, "Either we intercept the bandits before they cross the border or we follow them into Lot's kingdom and deal with them before his attention is drawn to us."

"It would be safer to fight them within Camelot's lands," Leon joined the conversation, "Too many things could go wrong if we cross the border."

"I agree," Arthur said, "But if we hope to face them on our terms, we must ride out immediately. And we must also ride at full speed."

He nodded to himself, as if confirming some plan he had drawn in his mind. "Gather the men," he ordered Leon and Elyan, "Make them ready. We ride in an hour."

"Yes, milord."

With nods of obedience, the two Knights left the quarters.

"Thank you," the druid told Arthur as the door closed, "For the help you are willing to give us."

"You reside in my kingdom; it is my duty to protect you," the King said simply, "And if you are attacked, it is my duty to bring those who have wronged you to justice. Also…I feel I must atone for the suffering I have personally caused you."

"You have already been forgiven by my people," the other man dismissed Arthur's quest for redemption, "For the most part, at the very least. We are not the ones whose suffering you must seek atonement for."

Arthur knew he was referring to others who practiced sorcery; witches, warlocks, High Priests and Priestesses who sought to bring Camelot down. While he wanted to right his father's wrongs and begin to alter Camelot's laws, he also knew he needed to proceed carefully where those with magic were concerned; he had known them to be cunning and revengeful and feared his good intentions might very well bring about his kingdom's downfall. Still, he didn't wish to break the newly mended bonds with the druids so he merely nodded. "I hope a day will come when I am able to do so," he said neutrally, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare to ride out."

* * *

"Promise me you will be careful."

Arthur smiled at the care he could hear in hear in her voice. Guinevere had come to see them off and after having given Elyan a warm hug for the journey, she had come to speak with him.

"I'm always careful," he reassured, "Besides, a few bandits are no match for the Knights of Camelot."

Somehow, his words did little to ease her worries. "Just…don't do anything foolish, alright?"

"Well, I can't make any guarantees, really," he told her, his tone a nonchalant one, "You know I have a tendency to do foolish things."

She seemed exasperated by his carefree approach of the situation.

"But don't worry," he added quickly, "I will do my best not to get myself killed."

That only seemed to make it worse and she sighed deeply, her brow furrowing as if she were debating something with herself. Her mind appeared to be set a moment later and before Arthur could question her about it, her hands made their way to his shoulders and her lips pressed to his.

His shock was short-lived and his eyes soon drifted shut, his hand coming to a rest at her waist.

He didn't quite know how long the kiss lasted but, however long it may have been, it was still not long enough for him.

"Just further incentive for you to be cautious," she whispered her explanation as her lips left his.

He grinned like an idiot.

She smiled at his joyous expression before taking a step back. He grasped her hand in his at it slipped away from his shoulder. "For you, milady," he said as he laid a gentle kiss atop her knuckles, "I will be the most cautious fool in the world."

She chuckled his ridiculous – yet somehow endearing – ways of romancing before finally allowing him to mount his horse and undertake his quest for the bandits.

She stayed in the courtyard until the men went out of sight, silently praying that no harm would come to anyone of them. After everything, she would not be able to bear such an occurrence.

A sigh passed her lips as she made her way back to Gaius' chambers, entering the room just in time to witness a conversation between the physician and the druid.

"I have not heard of a new prophet being created in a long time," Gaius said quietly, not wishing to disturb Maerwynn as the girl was now fast asleep in Merlin's room.

"It is the Triple Goddess herself who chooses prophets and allows them to glimpse into her designs," the druid spoke lowly too, "And you are right; she has not chosen a new one in over a century. I believe this means she finally has more stories to tell."

Gwen cleared her throat to alert the men to her presence. While Gaius jumped slightly in surprise, the druid seemed completely unfazed; he probably knew she was there all along.

"Could I ask you to tell me more about Maerwynn's gifts?" she requested humbly, "I find that I am quite curious about it."

"Of course," the druid agreed immediately, "There is much that you should know."

"Really?"

"Yes. There is a reason for Maerwynn's excitement upon learning your name; you are very well-known amongst my people."

Now even Gaius seemed intrigued.

"Why is that?" she dared to ask as her mind began conjuring a vast and most absurd array of different possibilities; she entirely blamed Kilgharrah and his cryptic promises of destiny for this.

"Because, Guinevere, _we_ are the wisdom of the old ways; _you_ are the wisdom of the new."

"I…don't understand."

"My people have walked the line between those with magic and those without it in the times of the Old Religion; you are the one who will walk that line when the hour of Albion comes."

"When Arthur unties the lands and brings peace to the kingdoms?" she ventured hesitantly, recalling the dragon's words about the subject. The druid smiled.

"I see the Great Dragon has done more than just carry you on his back."

"Well, yes…he told me of…various things."

He nodded. "Then you probably already know what the future holds for you."

"I do," she said with a deep sigh, chancing a look at Gaius. His inquiring eyebrow was raised in a manner she had come to know very well over the years. "I will tell you another time, Gaius," she promised but he surprised her by smiling knowingly.

"I believe I already know."

She pursed her lips; why did they all have to speak in confusing and obscure statements?

She turned back to the druid. "I meant to inquire about Maerwynn before this conversation took a…different turn. She said she dreamt of things that come to pass…Morgana is able to do the same."

The druid seemed to understand the true nature of her inquiry. "Do not mistake Morgana Pendragon for a prophet, Guinevere," he cautioned, "She is a _seer_. Her power allows her to glimpse into the future that has long ago been foretold and – if she so desires – use it to her gain. Prophets are spoken to by the Goddess herself. Of course, to hold such a power is no easy feat; they must be meticulously trained to withstand it. It is why Maerwynn can only see little portions of the future while she sleeps _now_; in time, her power will grow and the Triple Goddess shall provide her with far more knowledge than any of us could ever hope to possess."

Gwen's jaw dropped. "That sounds like a very heavy burden to carry," she remarked, imagining that poor little girl struggle under the weight of all the visions she would experience.

"It is," he agreed, "but it won't be anything she will not be able to handle."

She nodded slowly, repeatedly biting down on her lip as she gathered the courage to tell the man what she knew needed to be said. "You praise me greatly and I can only hope to live up to your expectations," she began as she stepped closer to him, "But there is something I believe must be said. You granted Arthur forgiveness for the wrongs _he_ has done you; I humbly ask that you forgive _mine_ as well."

For the first time since his arrival, the druid looked utterly confused. "What wrong have _you _done us?"

"Perhaps I have not wronged you directly but I did consider you an enemy," she admitted, "For a long time. I…have always been told that sorcery was evil by a man blind in his hatred and I believed his words. When your camps were raided and your kind executed, I shed no tears nor was I saddened by your loss and for that, I am _truly_ sorry. I was wrong…and I hope that you can forgive me."

The druid's features relaxed into an expression of understanding. "You are forgiven, even if no one has ever faulted you."

She smiled in gratitude. "Then perhaps – if you do not mind – you could tell me more about your ways. I have followed the opinions of others for far too long; I wish to learn for myself now."

He gestured for her to take a seat as Gaius too lingered nearby. He spoke for a long time, his tales complemented here and there with the physician's own stories. She learned of the hierarchy of the Old Religion, was introduced to the basics of its followers' faith. She also inquired about Emrys, stating she wished to thank him for saving her from the pyre.

"Emrys is known by many", the druid had told her, "and he shall be known to _you _when _he_ is ready."

Arthur and his men took three days to return and Gwen had been driving herself mad with worry the entire time.

She was the first to greet them in the courtyard when they came back. They were a bit dishevelled, slightly dirtied but sat proud atop their horses, which Gwen took as a sign of victory.

Her relief soon turned to dread as she counted three men missing, though. Mostly because one of them was Elyan.

"Where is my brother?"

Arthur's feet had barely even touched the ground before she was at his side, her tone anxious and fearful.

"Don't worry," he made to appease her quickly, "I instructed him and two others to stand guard over the druids' bodies at the attacked camp; I wish to give the survivors the chance to bury them in accordance to their customs, whatever those may be."

"Oh," she breathed a sigh of relief before grinning widely. "In that case, I am very glad to see _you_ haven't gotten yourself killed."

He presented her with his most charming smile. "I would never break a promise I had given _you_," he told her and, as she rolled her eyes, reached for a bundle of flowers secured at his saddle, "A small token of my affections," he informed her courteously as he handed her purple assortment, "I even made sure to pick the nice ones this time."

She smiled widely as she accepted his offering, touched by his thoughtfulness. She was also amused by the expression of pride he sported; he probably considered himself to be quite the expert in courting for having brought her these. He was also looking at her expectantly…_very_ expectantly, actually.

She almost laughed as she realised he wished to be rewarded for his…_efforts_. It reminded her of the time they had gone on that – albeit doomed – picnic; he had 'defended' her from a terrifying wasp, which may or may not have even been there – she had certainly not _heard_ any buzzing – and had quite obviously sought to be rewarded with a kiss for his _outstanding_ chivalry. He had had the same expectant glint in his eyes then, just as he did now. He also appeared to be rather impatient…he was beginning to bounce slightly in his spot, even.

She supposed she should just put the poor thing out of his misery.

Clutching the precious flowers in one hand, she lifted her other one to his face, running her thumb over his cheek. He stilled immediately, his eyes drifting to her lips in anticipation. She granted his wish a moment later, smiling as she did so.

The kiss grew long and she pulled away, not wishing to give anyone more fodder for gossip than necessary.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said softly, "but I think my gratitude is better expressed properly away from prying eyes."

It took a moment for her words to register in his mind. "You are right, of course," he agreed, taking her hand as he began walking toward the palace, but not before shouting at Merlin that his services would not be required just yet.

So much for being subtle.

"We should be able to speak freely in my chambers," he told her as they walked hand-in-hand up the stone steps, "And then you can tell me all about the time you _rode on the Great Dragon_…"

* * *

**A/N: Brace yourselves, dears, this is going to be a long one.**

**Firstly, I am sorry for the rather lengthy gap between updates. College is currently making me wish for the sweet mercy of a quick death so the time for writing has become even more scarce than before. Oddly enough, writing these little fics is actually what helps me relax my poor brain and preserve my sanity.**

**Secondly, allow me to address Gwen's - maybe excessive - bonding with the magical folk in this story. Before you start wondering what on Earth I am even doing with her character, let me share some of the aspects of the Guinevere from the legends I wanted to sort of seed into this story. You probably should have been given this explanation right after she had first met Kilgharrah but since yours truly is a bit of lazy girl, you are only getting it now. Here it goes.**

**Some of you probably already know this, actually. In the earliest, old Welsh versions of the Arthurian legends, Guinevere was actually a High Priestess and was, upon her death, laid to rest in Avalon. Of course, in those same legends, she is but the first of no less than three Guineveres that Arthur marries. Now, that triplicity is present in another aspect of her character in those versions of the stories. It symbolizes three key traits: a lady, the mother of Britain and the goddess of sovereignty - who, may I add, gave Arthur the right to rule in the first place - and that is what led to her being referenced as a _triple goddess_. Oh yes, Triple Goddess. I swear, I could build so very many headcanons around this fact.**

**Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that, before she was turned into a cheating damsel in distress by medieval European men, Guinevere was - at her strongest - a divinity or, at the very least, had very strong ties to magic. And it's an aspect I am trying to add to this story, while still attempting to remain true to the Gwen from the show. Whether I am failing miserably or not is for you to decide.**

**Thirdly, in case none of my gibberish in this chapter made any sense whatsoever, what the wise druid man - who only remains nameless because I was too lazy to think of a name for him - was trying to say is that, like the druids, Gwen will be sort of a neutral ground. While technically belonging to one of the two opposing camps, she is not a foe to the other and, like her robe-wearing counterparts, would offer shelter/help/protection to anyone, no matter whose side they are on. That, my lovelies, was the gist of my nonsense in this chapter.**

**And last but not least, the next chapter will include Arthur's reaction to the news of Kilgharrah's survival, a bit of Gwen/Merlin bonding and of course, some more Arwen. The update after that one, however, is I believe the one you have been mostly waiting for. **

**Also, if you actually read this whole thing through, you are my heroes.**


	18. The Promise of Brighter Tomorrows

**A/N: I would just like to take a moment to express my gratitude for all the interest you have been showing in this story. I have said this time and time again, but this_ is_ my first Merlin story and I could not have hoped for it to receive such a great response. I mean, I have been writing for Smallville (and the occasional Criminal Minds) for like two years and never have I _ever_ been so showered with compliments as I am now, for this story. So just...thank you. I'm not even sure what it is precisely that makes you all wonderful people consider this a good read, but_ thank you_! :)**

**The ramblings of a fanfiction author brought to the edge of sanity by chemistry and physics aside, I hope you will enjoy this update. Also, be warned, I have wandered into the land of all things cheesy again.**

* * *

Gwen carefully laid the flowers on the table as Arthur shut the doors of his chambers after entering.

"So, you flew on the Great Dragon's back," he began in a deceptively nonchalant tone, "High over all the trees and mountains and your neck was bleeding. Any explanation would be welcome at this point."

She rolled her eyes before turning to face him. "Why don't we get you out of your armour first?" she suggested, "And then I will tell you all about it."

"I want to know all about it _now_," he maintained his ground, feeling the anticipation alone was going to do him in for good. He had spent three days constantly wondering about it – in between dispatching bloodthirsty bandits, of course – and he could simply not bring himself to wait any longer.

She sighed in defeat. "Alright," she relented, "but you must _promise me_ you will not hold it against Merlin in any way."

"_Merlin_? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Quite a bit, actually. Do you remember when you faced the dragon some years ago?"

He nodded slowly as his eyes narrowed. "Of course I remember; I killed the dragon."

She bit her lip. "You didn't _actually_ kill him…Merlin let him go."

Arthur's eyes widened before his voice boomed across the room. "What do you mean _he let him go_?"

She raised an eyebrow at his outburst. "I really don't think I could have made it any clearer."

"But…but…but…"

She came nearer and took one of his hands in her own. "You were knocked out," she said, reiterating the story for him, "and when you came to, Merlin told you you had succeeded in killing the dragon but that wasn't true. He let him go and kept this knowledge to himself, for fear that you or your father would seek to slay Kilgharrah again."

"That's the dragon's name," she added when his forehead creased in confusion. She then waited for him to digest this first portion of the truth, remaining patiently silent as his mind processed it.

"The dragon had almost destroyed Camelot," he spoke after it had all sunk in, "It was irresponsible to let him get away."

"Has he tried to attack Camelot since?" she challenged, giving him a pointed look when he was forced to shake his head. "Kilgharrah told me he sought revenge for what was done to him and his kind…revenge against your father. He was wrong but I think his reasons are understandable, don't you?"

He begrudgingly nodded; after having learned the true extent of his father's sins, he was inclined to believe every single maniacal sorcerer's reasons were understandable. Misguided and cruel, but understandable.

"And he didn't harm you?" he queried, uneasy at the knowledge she had been suffering from an injury to her neck whilst riding the dragon.

"No," she assured him, "He was the one who helped me. What Maerwynn described happened when I set out for Nemeth the first time."

His fingers held hers more tightly as he frowned; he knew he shouldn't have let ride out alone that day.

"My journey was going well until Morgana intercepted me," Gwen began with the retelling of that day's events, "She knocked me off my horse and we argued…then she held a dagger to my throat and that's how my neck came to bleed."

His eyes widened at the revelation and it wasn't long before he seemed just about ready to murder Morgana with his bare hands…right after he had run himself through for letting Guinevere fall into her evil clutches, of course.

"It wasn't a serious injury," Gwen went on quickly, "Barely a scratch. And she _did_ let me go. She just…threw away the dagger and I ran."

He frowned again. "She spared you?" he questioned disbelievingly before his brow furrowed in thought. Moments later, he seemed to have come to an epiphany. "In Nemeth, you told me something had happened before your arrival there," he said as he recalled the brief conversation they had shared during their dance at Mithian's birthday feast, "Something that made you believe there was still hope for Morgana."

She nodded in confirmation though her eyes conveyed sadness. "Yes, it had made me believe a part of her still cared for me…but I was foolish in doing so. The throne will always come first to her, no matter what I say or do. I know that now."

He ran his thumb over her knuckles in an attempt to offer her some comfort; he knew well just how much Morgana's betrayal of the friendship they had once shared pained her. "So, how did the dragon get involved?" he ventured down another line of inquiry, wishing to both distract her from thoughts of his sister and get some much needed answers.

"He found me in the woods," she said, sighing as she forced herself to stop thinking of Morgana, "My horse had been spooked and I'd found myself without my supplies, my map to Nemeth…I was all but doomed. Then Kilgharrah landed before me, said he was sent to look after me by a young warlock he refused to name. He took me to Nemeth on his back and ensured my safety."

Arthur's eyes widened. "I…I find it hard to believe," he spoke at length, "that the same creature that wished to see us all burn would help you in such a way."

"Believe me, so did I. But I am certain he was truthful in his apologies and…I am also certain he is a friend to Camelot now, as is this young warlock he is so fond of."

He fell silent after this, considering the plausibility of such a scenario. He had come to learn that not all magic was necessarily evil and neither were those who practiced it. The druids were certainly proof of that. Then again, the Great Dragon was another matter entirely.

Still, Guinevere seemed convinced the dragon was worthy of their trust and another thing he had come to learn the hard way was that – unlike him - Guinevere was a good judge of character.

"I trust your judgement, Guinevere," he said after a long pause, "Much more than I trust my own. So, if you say the dragon is no longer our enemy, I will believe it."

She was somewhat surprised by the amount of faith he had in her. "You will not come to regret it," she promised as she stared up at him in wonder, "You have my word."

He shrugged casually, as though holding her to such high esteem were no big deal at all. "I know," he said simply before he focused on another puzzle she had presented him with, "And this young warlock, you don't know who he is?"

She shook her head. "I don't, though I wish I did," she admitted wistfully, "I would like to thank him in person, repay his kindness in some way. We are all lucky he wishes us no harm, you know."

"Why is that?"

"Well, _were_ he against us, I'm quite certain Kilgharrah would still be intent on burning us to a crisp. This young warlock is a Dragonlord, you see."

Arthur's eyes widened. "The last Dragonlord died," he said, pointing a finger of his free hand at her when she made to speak, "I was there, I saw it! I saw him die, Guinevere! I saw it!"

She almost laughed at his antics; he was probably beginning to question his sanity after all this information she was flooding him with.

"He had a son," she told him calmly, lowering his hovering finger with her hand, "and he carries on his legacy. Balinor's son is now the last Dragonlord."

He stared at her blankly for quite some time, obviously finding it difficult to absorb these facts all at once. Finally, he seemed to have recovered his senses. "I never thought I would hear of a sorcerer that powerful who doesn't wish to see us all fall."

"Neither did I. I suppose it was yet another thing I was wrong about."

He agreed with a small nod.

"Now," she said, her voice becoming more light-hearted, "since I've told you all about my adventures, why don't we proceed to getting you out of your armour? Also, you might want to call for Merlin, so he can draw you a bath."

"Are you saying I smell, Guinevere?"

"No, Arthur. I am saying you _reek_."

* * *

"There is really no need for you to do this, you know," Merlin remarked as he and Gwen found themselves in the laundry room that night, washing the Knights' dirtied clothing.

"I must earn my living, Merlin."

The warlock rolled his eyes as he scrubbed a particularly muddied pair of trousers. "So stubborn and principled," he observed, shaking his head slightly, "You must be driving Arthur _mad_."

She smiled. "That's partly why I do it, actually," she admitted, "It's such good fun to see him doing his best to keep me from working while also trying not to offend me by simply handing me money."

Merlin chuckled. "He complained about it today during his bath, you know," he told her, "Went on and on about how positively infuriating you are. Of course, then he started talking about how beautiful your eyes are and how soft your skin is, at which point I just did my best not to listen."

Gwen laughed lightly, finding the image of Arthur lounging in his bathtub whilst acting the besotted fool – complete with a blushing Merlin in the background – to be a very humorous one.

"He also said the only reason I'm not in the stocks right now for letting the dragon go free is the kindness of your heart," he added as an afterthought before giving her a grateful smile. "Thanks."

She shrugged the gratitude off. "Letting Kilgharrah be free is no reason to be punished. You were wise enough to know that, even back then."

His eyes widened at the compliment, leaving him to stare at her profile like she was some sort of otherworldly creature. It took her a moment to notice his expression, causing her to eye him warily.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" she queried slowly, unsure of why her words would cause a reaction.

He blinked before shaking his head rapidly, as if to clear it. "I'm fine," he assured quickly, bringing his gaze back to the trousers he still held. Gwen wasn't all that convinced.

"Have I…upset you in some way?" she wondered uncertainly; she had thought her words would please rather than upset him.

"No, no, I…it's just…it means a great deal that you think highly of me, that's all."

Her frown turned into a smile. "I've always thought highly of you, Merlin. You know that."

He returned her smile enthusiastically. "Thanks," he said again, unable to think of anything better to say.

"Well, you've earned it," she said simply before picking up a pair of socks to wash. She recoiled from their smell, holding them at arm's length as her nose scrunched in disgust. "Dear God."

Merlin chuckled. "Gwaine's."

"Should have known," she muttered as she let the pair drop into the basin before her; she decided to leave them there for a while, allowing for the scented water to drown some of the foul odour.

Merlin watched her in amusement before his features grew more serious. "Gaius told me you've quite taken to the druid girl," he began, hoping he sounded casual rather than truly interested, "Barely left her side while we were fighting the bandits."

"It's true," she told him, "Maerwynn is just so…precious, I think would describe her best. She will be a prophet someday, did you know that?"

He nodded. "Yes, Gaius spent hours telling me about it."

That bit was actually true; the aging physician had taken quite the time to school Merlin even further in matters of the Old Religion, absolutely enthralled by the idea of a new prophet, and the warlock had clung onto his every word.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Gwen went on, "For her to be able to know the future before it happens. Of course, it must also be a burden."

Merlin nodded gravely; he knew the weight of such burdens quite well.

"She told me I would meet Kilgharrah again too," she added, smiling at the idea, "In the clearing beyond the castle walls, in a month's time, on the night of the new moon."

"That's quite specific," he commented noncommittally but made a mental note to tell the dragon to show up at that precise moment.

"Her visions are very detailed."

"Well, she would make for a rather shabby prophet if they weren't."

She laughed lightly as she dared picking up the submerged socks; she dropped them again almost immediately. The stench was still far from tamed.

Merlin laughed again. "If you can't handle a mere pair of stinking socks, Gwen, I'm really not sure how you will be able to deal with sharing Arthur's chambers."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"Take it from someone who's been at his side constantly for years now…hygiene is not one of his strong points."

* * *

The following two weeks went by rather quickly. Arthur had personally escorted Maerwynn and her caretaker to the site of their desecrated camp, where Elyan and the two other Knights had stood guard without fail. He had then taken his men aside, allowing for the druids to bury their fallen companions in peace. He had also seen them adorn the scene with scraps of cloth, chanting as they did so; he realised they were making a shrine to the likes of that which Elyan had usurped some time ago, giving the restless souls a place where they could find peace.

His head had bowed as he understood that, unlike the boy who had possessed his Knight, the souls trapped here would never find relief; the bandits would never have a chance to seek pardon for their sins. He had voiced this thought to the druid man afterwards, apologising for having denied the spirits the chance to move on when he and his men had dispatched the bandits.

"Have no regrets, Arthur Pendragon," the man had told him calmly, "Those men would not have sought forgiveness, even if they had been given the chance. Their hearts were too consumed by greed for them to ever repent."

Still, Arthur had felt he should do something more for the druids so he had organised a feast to be held in the palace. The druid and the girl would be guests of honour, as the feast would be a celebration in the name of the newfound peace between their kinds. While the druid made it known his people found no pleasure in extravagancy and overabundance, the girl had seemed excited at the prospect of spending some more time with Guinevere, making the druid accept Arthur's offer.

The night of the feast came and Gwen appraised her appearance in the mirror for the umpteenth time, impatiently waiting for Arthur's knock to sound at her door.

When the upcoming celebration was announced, Arthur had taken her to the side and asked her to accompany him to the feast. She had been a little confused, seeing as she would have joined the festivities anyway, prompting him to emphasise that she would not be walking in as a mere attendee but as the lady the King was courting.

And if she was to walk in hand-in-hand with the King, then she would have to look her best. At least, that was she thought to be necessary.

She had chosen her finest dress, one she had spent months working on in Nemeth. It had originally been intended for Mithian but, when she had tried to present it to the Princess, the latter had insisted she kept it. It was made of expensive, midnight blue silk and the embroidery on its bodice glittered in silver and gold, while the piece itself was moulded to cling to the body, emphasising the wearer's figure. Gwen had – naturally – been reluctant to keep such a gown to herself but Mithian had been adamant so Gwen had had no choice but to relent. It would seem she had finally found a purpose for the dress.

She jumped slightly as she heard a tap against the door, smoothing her hair over one last time before moving to greet Arthur.

She pulled the door open, coming face to face with the King, dressed in his mandatory chainmail and red cloak. His eyes landed on her and he promptly lost his wits.

He had meant to greet her, compliment her – _anything_, really – but found himself at a loss for words before the sight of her. She had always been a thing of beauty but the way she looked this evening would make any man weak in the knees.

"Arthur?" she prompted hesitantly when he just stood stock-still at her doorstep, looking at her dazedly.

He blinked a few times. "I…you…uh…you're…so beautiful," he finally managed to say, making her eyes widen for a moment before she laughed in relief.

"You're quite handsome yourself," she said softly, bringing a grin out of him.

"Shall we, milady?" he offered her his arm and she gladly accepted it, allowing him to lead her up the street and to the already crowded banquet hall.

Everyone was already gathered, waiting for the King himself to make an appearance. They came to a stand in front of the closed doors and Arthur motioned for the guards to open them. It took the two men some time to respond to the command, as they were busy gawking at Gwen. She had to bite back a smile; she knew both men quite well, having spent most of her youth in her father's forge, a place guards often found themselves in.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, giving them a pointed glare. They scrambled to obey the previously forgotten order, pushing the doors open with a flourish.

The attendees stopped in their chats and those who were seated rose to their feet in respect for the King.

Gwen did her best to appear graceful as she and Arthur walked down the centre of the hall and up to the small table at its far end. She noticed it had a total of four chairs, two of which were already occupied by Maerwynn and the druid. While the latter appeared almost bored, the girl was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. Her childish innocence warmed Gwen's heart.

She focused on the two empty chairs as they strode through the assembled crowd, fully aware that every set of eyes in the room was on her. Some, she knew, were scornful and mocking while others held respect; if the need should arise, she knew exactly how she would deal with the former ones.

Arthur assisted her as she took her seat next to Maerwynn, holding her hand gently as she lowered her body into the chair. He remained standing however, preparing to give a speech.

She smiled at the girl by her side as he cleared his throat and began speaking. She didn't really listen to him all that much, lost in her own thoughts. Besides, the speech was really not all that enticing. She did appreciate the emphasis he put on the peace Camelot had made with druids and the enthusiasm which coloured his voice as he spoke of hopes for an even brighter future. She clapped with the rest of the crowd and she knew that, much like her, many of them had not really listened to much of what he had said.

As the clapping began to subside, Maerwynn spoke up. "That was very boring," the girl said bluntly, making Gwen stifle a chuckle.

"I know," she whispered conspiratorially, "but it's somewhat of a tradition. Kings give long, boring speeches…it's just what they do."

"I can hear you, you know," Arthur commented dryly but it was obvious he was more amused by the exchange than anything else.

"We _do_ know," Maerwynn replied calmly, "I'd be worried if you couldn't, actually…I mean, we _are_ right next to you."

His jaw dropped at her unbothered response, making Gwen press a fist to her mouth to keep herself from laughing hysterically. Still, it would appear the girl was not quite finished in her observations.

"Your crown is funny," she remarked next and Gwen heard Merlin choke as he tried to subdue his own laughter behind them.

"Every King of Camelot has worn this crown," Arthur protested indignantly but Maerwynn seemed to think this held very little importance.

"It's still funny."

She seemed to think this concluded the conversation and it wasn't long before she turned to Merlin, asking him to finish a story he'd been telling her earlier. He seemed surprised for a moment but soon obliged, crouching next to her chair as he picked up the tale from where he had left it off.

Arthur tried to look inconspicuous as he removed the crown from his head and set it on the table.

Gwen entertained the idea of teasing him about it but he denied her the chance as he asked her to join him for a walk. She raised an eyebrow in confusion but accepted nonetheless. As he rose to his feet and offered her his hand, she noticed Merlin and Maerwynn weren't actually speaking, but rather simply staring at each other mutely. The lack of spoken words seemed to be inconsequential, for it somehow appeared to Gwen there was still much being said between them.

_How odd_, she mused idly as Arthur began leading her away from the table.

She noticed a few giving them inquiring looks as they walked by but decided not to pay them any attention; rumours about her and Arthur were already circulating freely so if petty minds wished to gossip some more, she would let them.

Arthur didn't speak until they reached their destination, which turned out to be the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The square was empty, due to both the late hour and the festivities, but it still looked rather beautiful in the moonlight.

She bit her lip as he angled his body to face hers, taking hold of both her hands.

"Guinevere," he began softly and just a little bit nervously, "there are no words to express how much you mean to me. How much you've _always _meant to me. I…I tried to think of the words, believe me, but anything I came up with just sounded too meaningless to describe it – to describe _you_."

She could feel her heart's beats gradually pick up speed until they were like thunder in her chest; she knew what he was going to ask but the anticipation was still the sweetest of agonies, just like it had been so many months ago. Only this time, there was nothing that could endanger the sacred vows they would share. No Uther, no Lancelot, no Morgana, no Agravaine, no doubts, no insecurities; nothing short of the entire kingdom crumbling down was going to stop them now.

"I've spent so many hours trying to find the right words," he went on, a little more confidently now, "but for all my efforts, all I managed to think of is that, well…"

His voice trailed off for a moment as his mouth pulled into the warmest of smiles. "You're _Guinevere_."

Her eyes began to glass over, twinkling and shining in the moonlight. He may not have a way with words, but the way he had spoken her name was worth a thousand poems; actually, no poems could ever do that one little word justice. The few syllables told a tale of an all-encompassing, everlasting love as they rolled off his tongue and they were her heart's content, binding it to his.

She blinked and her tears fell, the ring she held so dear revealed to be hovering above her hand as her vision cleared.

"Will you marry me?"

And there she was again, the lowly serving girl who dared dream of the boy who would be King, scarcely believing the fantasy would one day come to pass. Hope was a fool's downfall and a kind heart's weakness but for Guinevere, it would appear to have ultimately brought the greatest of rewards.

"Yes. Yes, with all my heart."

* * *

**A/N 2: Yes, I have joined the let's-all-mock-Arthur's-burger-king-crown bandwagon. Seriously, that thing is just ridiculous.**

**Also, I _am_ rehashing the 'with all my heart' line from 4x13 (and - as it turned out - 5x09 as well) because I just loved that line. It's just one of those precious, little, romantically mushy snippets that never fail to make my inner fangirl go bonkers.**

**Finally, the next chapter is the - much awaited? - royal wedding. Which may or may not go the way you would think it would go...I mean, the proverbial violins _will_ be playing but also, you know...shenanigans. Also, for those of you who may have been hoping for some quality wedding night smut, I feel I should inform you that I am incapable of writing good smut. Don't get me wrong, I will read it like there's no tomorrow but I fail - and when I say fail, I mean _fail_ - at writing it. See, it always goes in one of two ways. Either it ends up sounding so overly clinical, it becomes stuff of the 'insert object A into slot B' variety or - when I try to go for romantic and whatnot - resembles the depiction of a psychedelic ecstasy trip rather than a sex scene. I'm...working on it. **

**And I should probably stop talking now. Yeah. Yeah, I should.**

**P.S. There will be an entire chapter dedicated to the coronation, separate from the wedding one. I'm not actually sure if they both happen at the same time or not but, since I have completely different things in mind for each, I am writing them separately.**


	19. The Union of Wandering Souls

**A/N 1: In the face of the show's dreaded final episode that is certain to turn us all into pitiful sobfests, I give you the royal wedding. With shenanigans, as previously mentioned. Have no fear, no monsters/witches/goblins/leprechauns/werewolves/vampires/other creatures of the slimy variety will invade Camelot, just - you know - shenanigans. Brought on by Merlin...'cause he's the one who makes it all happen. **

**My apologies for the almost-two-weeks-long gap between updates. Like I said a few chapters ago, time for writing has been reduced to a minimum. This will also probably be a good time to tell you that the next update is highly unlikely to happen before the ten-ish of January. Unfortunately, it is exams time.**

**I will however tell you that said update is going to be somewhat of an interlude. A little bit of Gwen doing her (Royal) HBIC thing and her new chat with Kilgharrah. Some other stuff too. The coronation is the chapter after that.**

**Anyway, I do hope you enjoy the silly workings of my mind ahead :)**

* * *

It had been a while since the whole of Camelot buzzed with such positive energy, their hearts light and their smiles uncontainable.

There was peace in the land, something their King had fought for without rest. The kingdom was strong and prosperous. The witch no longer posed a threat. And of course, there was a wedding to look forward to.

The townspeople were loyal to the King first and foremost, but it was their future Queen they held dearest in their hearts. She bore the shame of an adulteress on her shoulders but her kind soul and gentle manner outweighed it; besides, if the King himself had forgiven her, how could _they_ not?

She was one of them and for those who knew her well, there was no doubt as to the kind of sovereign she would be. They also knew how the King cared for her and, if she brought him joy, then there was nothing they could wish for more.

Two weeks before the grand day, the announcement had been made; Arthur Pendragon sought to make Guinevere, Tom the Blacksmith's daughter, his Queen once more. Preparations – _very_ extensive preparations – had been made and, unlike the last time, the event was to be an exceptionally grandiose one. The celebrations were to span a number of days, beginning with the handfasting ceremony and ending with the coronation feast.

And, also unlike the last time, no tourney was to be held to celebrate the upcoming union. Most surmised neither the bride nor the groom wished to relive the memories of the last jousting tournament to hold such a purpose.

Nobles from surrounding kingdoms had been invited too; parents could not find a way to tame their children as the youngsters snuck around the courtyard, admiring the defile of various lords and ladies.

Nemeth's party was to first to arrive, as it was confirmed the Princess Mithian would be the bride's maid of honour. The Princess' mother had come along as well, apologising for her husband's absence; someone had to be left in charge of the kingdom. The Princess' guard, Sir Brenner – a man the maids found to be simply _dashing_ – was in attendance as well, per the soon-to-be-wedded couple's personal request, it was said.

King Olaf had made the journey as well, without the company of his daughter. This too, rumour had it, was due to Arthur and Guinevere's insistence.

Lord Godwynn did join the celebrations with _his_ daughter; somehow, the Princess Elena appeared to be infinitely more graceful than the people remembered her to be.

Queen Annis of Caerleon had been invited as well, though – for state reasons – could not find the time to make the journey.

As for Camelot's ruling sovereign himself, very few could remember him ever seeming so joyful and filled with happiness. It was precisely how he felt, too. As he went to bed the night before the big day – dismissing an exceptionally cheery Merlin with actual _politeness_ – he could not have been more excited, or content for that matter. He sighed in bliss as he allowed his eyes to drift shut; the following day was going to be _perfect_.

* * *

"MERLIN!"

The warlock, accompanied by Gaius, entered the chambers with extreme caution. He had thought everything would run smoothly on this one, solitary day; no such luck, apparently.

The throne room had been decorated to perfection, with flowers and ribbons arranged immaculately. The kitchens had worked without rest and the most delicious of dishes were ready to be served. All the guests were housed to their satisfaction. The future Queen's belongings had been moved to the royal chambers, everything in place for her permanent move there that night. Each Knight's boots and chainmail had been polished to brilliance, their cloaks washed to a scintillated red. The bride's wedding gown was crafted with extreme care and was – by a possible miracle – kept out of harm's way. Geoffrey of Monmouth was in exceptional health, running no risk of collapsing or – heavens forbid – forgetting his speech while performing the official ceremony.

Yes, everything was in perfect order. Except for the groom himself.

Merlin had cursed everything under the sun – mostly himself, really – when he had merrily skipped into Arthur's chambers in the morning, only to find the latter sneezing uncontrollably, with his eyes bleary and his nose running. The King, it would appear, had caught a cold overnight…mainly because his manservant had forgotten to close the windows, even though he knew the night would be a chilly one.

"There is no need to yell, sire," Merlin said as he closed the door, bolting it just to be on the safe side.

Arthur obviously deemed him to be an absolute idiot for even suggesting he calm down. "No need to yell?" he exclaimed, "I am a quivering mess, cannot even breathe through my nose and I am meant to get married! IN AN HOUR!"

Gaius approached the King, examining his face. "You seem to have caught quite the cold indeed," he observed calmly, somehow seeming to bring Arthur to the brink of desperation with his composed demeanour.

"You must help me, Gaius," he was on the verge of begging, grasping the older man's shoulders in his despair, "There must be something you can do, anything to – ACHOO!"

The physician had no opportunity to reply as Arthur sneezed, raining a rather glorious amount of saliva and slime on his shocked face.

Both men stilled.

"Sorry," Arthur muttered as he stepped away from Gaius, looking apologetic for his – though involuntary – actions.

"Think nothing of it, sire," the physician said dryly, wiping the remnants of Arthur's mishap off his face with as much dignity as he could muster.

"We really should take care of this," Merlin observed, his face having wrinkled in distaste, "I dread to think what would happen were you to shower _Gwen_ with your boogers."

Arthur's own face conveyed both utter misery and outrage. "This is all your fault!" he accused, meaning to somehow inflict pain upon the fool – possibly by strangling him – but was struck by another sneezing fit, having the presence of mind to at least face away from his companions this time.

"What's to be done, Gaius?" Merlin inquired, prepared to use magic if necessary. He would _not _be the cause of his friends' failed wedding.

The other man's forehead creased in thought. "There are many easy remedies to cure such a common ill, of course," he said, "Quite effective remedies. Unfortunately, those will do us little good now…we have but an hour before the ceremony."

Arthur whirled around again, now beginning to feel panicked. "There must be something, Gaius," he urged, "At this rate, I will be sneezing my way through the wedding vows!"

Gaius turned sympathetic at the worry in the young King's voice; he knew how much Arthur wanted everything to go perfectly, if only to make Guinevere as happy as could be. "I do have a stronger remedy," he told Arthur, "One effective almost immediately."

"I'll take it!" Arthur proclaimed immediately, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt as he sniffled loudly.

"There are side effects, sire," Gaius cautioned, "Side effects that can be inconvenient."

"As long as it doesn't make me grow a second head, I'll take it."

Gaius nodded. "Go fetch it, will you, Merlin?" he asked of the warlock, "Third shelf of the second row, the pale red tincture."

Merlin nodded in agreement, making his way to the physician's quarters as quickly as his legs would carry him.

"Gaius," Arthur prompted after some silence, "what kind of side effects are we talking about exactly?"

"Extreme drowsiness, milord."

The King raised an eyebrow, obviously not thinking this side effect to be a particularly horrid one. "Drowsiness?"

"Yes, sire. The remedy will remove all symptoms of the cold almost immediately after ingestion and you will feel quite energetic. The tincture's effects last for some hours; then, you will feel overcome by a sense of extreme drowsiness, as I said."

Arthur laughed in relief. "I can deal with drowsiness."

Gaius almost shook his head pityingly; the poor lad was clearly not thinking this through. Oh well, he supposed Gwen would have to be understanding of his state come nightfall.

Merlin returned some time later, holding the small vial in his hand for Gaius to inspect. The physician nodded his approval and it was not a second later that Arthur snatched it from his manservant's grasp, chugging its contents down in one sip.

He then – still seeking vindication – threw the emptied vial at the fool who was the source of his predicament in the first place. The small bottle bounced off the other man's nose before flying to the ground and breaking.

Merlin regarded him with annoyance. "Prat."

* * *

Gwen smiled as Mithian put the finishing touches on her overall appearance.

The day had begun quite early for the future Queen, seeing as her preparations for the ceremony were much more complicated than the King's. She had gathered a few maids and the Princess in the early hours of the morning, wanting to make sure she didn't have as much as a hair out of place when she was to meet her soon-to-be husband in the throne room for the ceremony.

The gown, tailored by the kingdom's most renowned seamstress, was quite an extraordinary one, pearly white with golden embroidery. The maids she had asked to assist her had found themselves with little to do, since Mithian took it upon herself to do most of the work. She almost seemed more excited than Gwen herself about the wedding.

The Princess had applied some light shades to the bride's eyelids, stating that too much paint would conceal her natural beauty. Modest but elegant ornaments graced her ears while her hair had been meticulously shaped by the Princess. It had grown quite a bit in the past year, reaching to her lower back now; Mithian decided against trimming it, settling for pushing some locks away from her face and securing them at the back of her head with a silver pin.

She smiled at her handiwork. "There," the Princess declared as she stepped away, admiring her friend's attire some more, "Perfect."

"Milady, you look wonderful," one of the maids complimented her with genuine awe and Gwen had to stop herself from admonishing the girl for addressing her so formally; they had known each other for years. Still, she knew she would have to get used to receiving such treatment from her friends; she supposed she might as well start now.

"Thank you," she replied warmly before running her hands over her skirts one more time.

"Nervous?" Mithian queried knowingly, causing Gwen to laugh tremulously.

"Positively terrified."

"You can always make a run for it, you know," the Princess observed casually and Gwen understood her friend hoped to appease her frayed nerves with a little teasing. She smiled fondly.

"And how do you propose I escape the castle unnoticed?" she challenged, playing along.

Mithian shrugged. "The window."

"I would break my neck jumping through the window."

"Oh, I'm sure we could find some rope…and Bren would certainly be strong enough to hold you on your way down. You need only say the word."

Gwen rolled her eyes as she shook her head at the Princess' silliness, her reply cut short by a knock on the door.

It was Merlin, letting them know the ceremony was about to begin. He grinned widely when his eyes landed on Gwen.

"Arthur will probably faint at the sight of you," he commented, making her laugh heartily.

"Let us hope not," she said as she ushered Mithian and the other women towards the door.

The Princess gave her one final smile of encouragement before stepping out. "I am so happy for you, Gwen."

The bride smiled in gratitude before she was left alone in the chambers, waiting for her brother. She took the few moments of solitude to steady her heart. It was almost surreal, knowing she was moments away from marrying Arthur. It had been the same the first time, perhaps even more now. She was in her wedding gown, the ceremony was about to begin; it was _truly_ happening.

She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she did so.

"Father would have been so proud."

The softly spoken words made her eyelids flutter open as she smiled at Elyan, who stood in the doorway with gathering tears in his eyes.

"I hope so," she said, putting a restraint on tears of her own; she would not spoil Mithian's hard work by crying.

Elyan nodded, stepping closer to her. "I know he would be," he ascertained, "as would Mother. Their daughter, a Queen."

"And their son a Knight," Gwen pointed out, smoothing a hand over the cloak he wore. "They would have been proud of you too, Elyan."

He acknowledged the praise with a grateful grin. "Gwen, I know I've not always been good to you," he said after a moment's pause, growing more serious, "but know that there is no one I would have been prouder to call my sister."

"I know," she assured quietly, moved by the declaration, "And, no matter what, I will always be proud to call you my brother."

She took a deep breath before giving him a pointed look. "We should get going before you bring me to tears," she told him, prompting him to extend his arm for her to take. "Mithian would have my guts."

* * *

Arthur stood in front of the two thrones – one for him and the other for his future wife – feeling rather chipper. The tincture Gaius had given him was indeed a miraculous one; he felt as though in impeccable health and rather energetic.

He was also terribly excited. He had almost _hugged _Merlin earlier in his state of joy.

He noticed his manservant, Mithian and a few inconspicuous maids make their way into the room and knew it would not be long before Guinevere herself crossed the threshold.

The two men at the entrance soon sounded the horns they held – just as they had when he had entered – and thus announced Guinevere's presence.

He was certain he had forgotten how to both blink and breathe when he saw her take slow yet determined steps closer to him, holding onto her brother's arm.

Her smile was gentle as she approached, her gown following her movements seamlessly. She looked every bit the Queen she would soon be but Arthur would have thought her precious even in the most unflattering of rags, for she made _him_ feel precious in return.

_You are precious, not just the kingdom_, she had once told him. He blamed his own foolishness for not understanding it fully before. Others cared for the kind of King he could be, for the prosperity he could bring to the kingdom; she cared – above all – for his heart. No one, from his father to his scrawny best friend of a manservant, had ever made him feel so cherished, for just being himself.

Guinevere made him feel so loved, so at peace, and _that_ made her _invaluable_.

And for someone so invaluable, he had treated her rather poorly. He was, however, determined to do better.

Elyan stepped aside as they came nearer, blending into the crowd as Guinevere climbed the two steps up to where Arthur stood, taking his proffered hands. She faced him fully, prompting Geoffrey to come to a stand by them and begin the ceremony.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen of Camelot," he began, his voice carrying across the large room, "we are gathered here today to celebrate – by the ancient right of handfasting – the union of Arthur Pendragon and the Lady Guinevere."

He was _certain_ she was tempted to roll her eyes at the title that had just been bestowed upon her.

Those same eyes held much promise for happiness and joy as Geoffrey said a few more words of introduction before addressing Arthur.

"Is it your wish, Arthur, to become one with this woman?"

Dear God, it was his _only_ wish.

"It is," he spoke with certainty, earning himself a radiant smile from his beloved.

"And is it your wish, Guinevere, to become one with this man?"

"It is," she affirmed, as if there were no doubt in her mind she was making the right decision.

"Do any say 'nay'?" Geoffrey prompted, his eyes going to the gathered crowd.

_They better not_, Arthur thought darkly but no sounds of protest were to be heard from the attendees and so Geoffrey proceeded with the ceremonials.

The string of leaves he held in his hands was raised higher and he soon began bringing it around their joined hands. "With this garland," he said, "I do tie a knot and by doing so, bind your hands and your hearts for all eternity."

Arthur could feel his heart beating furiously. They were about to exchange vows and, though he had learned them a long time ago, he was still rather nervous. He silently asked all the divinities he had ever heard of _not_ to let him stutter.

"I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot," he was glad to find his voice was steady, "I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee as I respect myself."

He felt her squeeze his fingers gently in affection.

"I, Guinevere, daughter of Tom the Blacksmith," she followed with vows of her own and he couldn't help but smile at the pride in her voice as her father's name passed her lips, "I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee as I respect myself."

The vows were generic, spoken by every wedded couple and yet, Guinevere sounded like she meant every single word and more.

He heard very little of what Geoffrey said next, only quite registering the final words of his speech.

"I now pronounce you to be husband and wife."

Arthur leaned in to kiss her, officially sealing the marriage. He made sure to keep it brief and chaste, lest he would make every maiden in the crowd blush, wearing the brightest of grins as he straightened.

She appeared to return the sentiment, her smile of elation enough to melt his heart.

"I love you," she whispered reverently and lowly, so only he could hear her.

He kissed her again then, propriety and blushing maidens be damned.

* * *

The feast that evening was a particularly grand one, the banquet hall filled to full capacity.

Many came to wish the newlyweds luck and congratulate them, some more sincere than others. When Arthur finally thought they would be given a moment's respite and made to speak, he was interrupted by Gwaine as the Knight sauntered up to them. He sighed in annoyance; were a few minutes of peace so he could actually _talk to his wife_ too much to ask for?

"Milady," the Knight said as he bowed dramatically before her, producing a single white daisy as he straightened, "a small token for our new Queen."

Gwen laughed heartily as she accepted the flower; he was such a silly man.

"Well, thank you, Sir Knight," she responded, her voice as overly courteous as his, "I shall cherish this token."

She then proceeded to tuck it into her hair so it rested by her temple. Gwaine grinned roguishly as Arthur frowned. He found the entire exchange to be odd but decided against inquiring about it; he was sure that, if he did, Gwaine would not leave them alone for the next two hours.

"You warm my heart, milady," Gwaine then said, making a big show of kissing the back of her hand, winking at her as he did so.

More Knights came by, showering Guinevere with attention. Elyan approached them more than once, getting more and more sentimental each time; Arthur was certain all the wine he had consumed during the – rather unreasonably numerous – toasts was to blame.

The King finally decided that enough was enough when Merlin came to stand before them, proclaiming that he loved them both so very, very much. For someone who spent most of his time in the tavern, he seemed to be handling his liquor intake very poorly.

He stood and announced they would be retiring for the evening, earning himself a whistle from a group of Knights, spurred on by Gwaine, naturally.

The bride and groom were to be prepared for their first night together separately and Arthur almost wept in misery when it turned that George was just about the only servant sober enough to do the job. He knew he shouldn't have let Guinevere talk him into allowing the servants to indulge themselves freely as well.

He dismissed George as soon as everything was in place, finding that he didn't quite know what do with himself as he waited for Guinevere. Should he sit? Stand? Lie down?

He sighed. It pained him to admit it, but he was as nervous as could be. Contrary to what many thought, his experience with women was not quite as extensive as it was believed to be. He had certainly been approached by many girls, yet there was only one amongst them who had come close to sharing his bed.

Some years back, a little while before Merlin had come to Camelot, a pretty serving girl had caught his eye. He had made advances and she had accepted. Then came the night when she stepped into his chambers; their clothes had been discarded quickly and they were about to stumble onto the bed when she had made an offhand comment about how she would have to come up with a ruse to trick her future husband – a man she had already been engaged to – on their wedding night. Intrigued by the comment, Arthur had inquired as to why she would need to bother with the ruse; a woman's virginity was not as important amongst commoners as it was for royals, seeing as many girls of low birth were known to warm the nobles' beds at night. It was a practice that had come to be accepted.

_Because I don't want to hurt him_, she had said simply, stunning Arthur.

_So, you love him?_

_More than any other in the world._

_Then what on Earth are you doing with me?_

She had shrugged, her tone that of resignation as she provided him with an explanation. _You are the Prince._

He had sent her on her way then, never actively seeking companionship of such nature again. A couple of flirtatious exchanges here and a few kisses there, certainly; but no girl had been invited to his bed since.

"You seem to be lost in thought."

He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice; he hadn't even heard her step into the chambers, locking the door behind her.

Chuckling nervously, he shook his head. "Nothing that you would find interesting, I'm afraid."

Her head tilted to the side. "Am I to assume you are thinking of things such as armour and crossbows on _our wedding night_?" she asked, feigning the hurt in her voice.

His laughter was genuine this time. "Don't be silly," he said, beckoning her to come closer.

She obliged and moved across the room, smiling at the way his eyes traced the outlines of her nightgown, skimming over her legs, her hips, waist and chest, before finally resting on her face as she came to stand within his reach.

His arms encircled her immediately, his hands beginning to roam the expanse of her back at a leisure pace. Her own hands rose, one coming to rest on his shoulder while the other settled on the portion of his chest that was not covered by the plain tunic he wore, her fingertips drawing light patterns on his skin.

She placed a light kiss just below his ear before her lips ventured sideways, brushing across his jawline until they met his own. Gentle nibbles slowly turned into more lustful demands and Arthur drew her closer still, pressing her chest against his own. The feeling was not foreign to either as they both recalled their meeting at the lake, the momentary passion that had consumed them both then. It was perhaps the realisation that this moment would not be as fleeting which made Arthur tighten his grip on her hip, feeling as though he was slowly losing his sanity and welcoming the downfall with open arms.

He trailed kisses along her jaw, seeking to bury his nose in the wonder that was her hair. Only then was he reminded – through his quest's failure – that her hair was pulled back.

"Why is your hair braided?" he muttered in discontent, his fingers already moving to untie the knotted scrap which held the offending coiffure in place.

"It gets tangled," she answered, her voice breathy, as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder, "When I sleep, it gets tangled."

"As King, I'll order it not to," was his solution to the problem, the braid already halfway undone.

She chuckled quietly. "My hair will not _dare_ disobey _you_, Your Highness."

"Now, that's better," he declared as his task was accomplished and her hair was falling down her back freely. He ran his hands through it, enjoying the way her strands felt both coarse and soft against his fingers.

She angled her head to look up at him, smiling at his pleased expression. "Are you happy?" she queried, having always found his odd quirks to be endearing.

His eyes left the curls he found so captivating and rested on hers. For a man of few words, his eyes spoke plenty and, if a stray ray of sunshine were to be cast upon her at that moment, she was certain they would have made her shine in gold.

"As long as I have you, Guinevere."

He was, admittedly, quite a difficult man to love. Prone to either listening to the wrong advice or hearing none whatsoever, with a heart heavy with uncertainties; his mistakes numerous and his judgement clouded by bonds only he seemed to cherish. He struggled with the legacy his father had left him with, torn between the values he was taught and those he had come to learn on his own. Arrogance reigned over him at times too, making him dismiss those whose thoughts and beliefs were different to his.

But for all that, he still somehow knew how to exhilarate her heart. His words of sentiment were scarce indeed but, when they were spoken, they meant the world.

"I will always be here," she said, knowing that much to be true. She would never leave him willingly.

Her promise seemed to bring him much comfort and he smiled contently before lowering his lips to hers again. His feet began moving as well, leading them both closer to the bed.

Before she knew it, she found herself on her back, resting atop the bed sheets. Odd, she didn't exactly _remember_ lowering herself onto the bedspread. She blamed Arthur for it, really. He muddled her mind, he did.

His flying shirt caught her eye before it disappeared out of sight, presumably landing on the far end of the room. Arthur joined her a moment later, climbing onto the bed carefully. He hovered over her, supporting himself on one hand. His other one was suspended in mid-air, inching closer to her leg but he still seemed to hesitate, appearing to be asking her permission.

She nodded her approval with a smile and his wandering hand rested against her calf; he took a moment to rub the precious expanse of skin before trailing higher up her leg, bringing the material of her nightdress along. As the material rose, her legs set further apart, allowing him to nestle between them. He sighed in contentment at the closer contact, resuming his hand's ascent.

The feeling of his hand against her was unfamiliar but heavenly, a small sound of appreciation leaving her throat as her eyes drifted shut; she revelled in his touch and wished to savour the pleasant sensation fully.

His fingers paused halfway up her thigh, ceasing their continual caresses. The unexpected halt prompted her to open her eyes, only to find him staring down at her leg with a frown of guilt. She immediately knew he was looking at the faint but undeniable mark his arrow had left on her skin.

She sighed softly before raising her hand to his temple, running her fingers through his hair. "It's just a scar," she said quietly, causing him to look up at her. Her appeasing smile seemed to bring him little reassurance and he turned his gaze away again almost instantly.

"One that I have caused," he countered contritely, running his fingertips over the marred skin, as though it would erase the imprint.

"We went over this a long time ago, Arthur," she soothed, "It's all in the past now."

He nodded in acknowledgment but surprised her by lowering his head and allowing his lips to brush against her scar softly. They lingered there for a moment before travelling higher; the cloth still covering her seemed to be of little importance as he kissed her hip and stomach through the material, reaching up to the underline of her breasts.

She was moaning softly under his ministrations, threading both her hands through his hair as his mouth moved to her neck and then her collarbone. He moved lower still, his mouth drawing a path of fire in its wake.

Arthur almost felt as though he had been drugged, his mind heady and clouded. Her skin was warm and pliable under his mouth and hands, her sweet voice of approval to be likened to the most compelling of melodies.

The swell of her breasts met his lips, instantly captivating him. They were soft, inviting and very comfortable. So very, very comfortable…

Gwen felt him stop again at her bust, her brow creasing in momentary confusion. She couldn't recall having any scars of his doing _there_…

She peeked down at him. He was still, his cheek resting against her breasts and his breathing deep and even.

He couldn't possibly have….no, he wouldn't….

He snored loudly.

She gasped in indignation; he'd fallen asleep, using her bosom as a convenient pillow. Gwen shook him strongly, trying to rouse him, but he merely mumbled in his sleep, clutching her even tighter as he snuggled deeper into – what he seemed to have deemed – his new pillow.

Her jaw hung open as she looked down at the top of his head. She had been told men tended to sleep soundly after performing intimacies in the bedroom but they hadn't even done _anything_ yet, really. He couldn't _possibly_ have such poor endurance; he was the greatest warrior in all of the kingdoms, for heaven's sake!

Maybe he was exhausted…or perhaps he fainted later than Merlin had predicted he would.

Either way, it was rather disappointing.

* * *

It was nearly daybreak when Arthur finally woke from his slumber. Gwen hadn't really gotten much sleep herself, having only dozed off for an hour or two; it was rather difficult to sleep with a man of Arthur's built resting on top of her. His snores were also as loud as she remembered them to be; he would make all the pigs of the world proud.

He grunted sleepily, still caught in the vestiges of his dream. He made to get more comfortable against his surprisingly appealing pillow, only to realise that said pillow was…_beating_.

He raised his head in surprise, his eyes landing on Guinevere's rather annoyed ones.

"I trust you slept well," she commented dryly, making his eyes widen as his mind finally cleared.

He hadn't actually fallen asleep right in the middle of…had he?

"Did I…I didn't…please tell me I didn't," he pleaded, his voice laced with embarrassment.

"Oh, you most certainly did," she said flatly, "And I have a glorious drool stain on my nightdress to prove it."

His gaze tentatively slipped downward, landing on the rather imposing pool of his own saliva which now graced the cloth covering her bosom. He groaned in despair as he let his head drop atop her chest. He should have taken Gaius' warnings more seriously.

"It's my fault," he mumbled, "Gaius warned me but I didn't think…"

He groaned again.

Her annoyance ebbed away before his muffled words of contrition, one of her hands rising to massage his scalp lightly. "Gaius?" she prompted softly, earning herself another subdued howl of misery before he spoke.

"Merlin left the windows open," he complained, "and I caught a cold. And then Gaius gave me a remedy but he said it would cause extreme drowsiness and…but I thought I would…"

He sighed again before lifting his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Actually, it's all Merlin's fault," he concluded, making Gwen bite her lip in amusement. He had been incapacitated by one of the physician's remedies, the poor dear; now that she no longer thought his state was brought upon by her lack of appeal, she found the situation to be infinitely humorous.

"Can I please be in the room when you tell him this?" she asked, giggling lightly as she pictured the scene that would unfold.

He seemed to be put at ease by her teasing, rolling his eyes. "I will never tell him. He will just wake up one morning and find that all of his limbs are missing."

Gwen chuckled loudly at the words, the sound soon turning into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the expression of calculated determination on Arthur's face. The entire situation was simply ridiculous.

Her merriment made her shake and wriggle against him, drawing his attention back to the position they were in. She quieted down, taking note of the shift in his posture. It would seem they _would_ get their wedding night…wedding morning…wedding dawn? Oh, well.

She pulled him by the shoulders, levelling his face to hers. "Let's not talk about Merlin anymore," she said quietly, brushing her lips over his.

All matters not pertaining to the woman he held within the circle of his arms fled his mind instantly and Arthur was lost to her once more, his mind swimming and his muscles coiling.

The drool-stained nightdress was soon discarded, per Guinevere's own initiative and to Arthur's immense satisfaction. His mouth adorned the newly uncovered skin with kisses, some feather-light and gentle, other frenzied and feverish. Guinevere thought his warm touch to be the most exquisite of pleasures; it made her blood race with fire and scorched her bones.

The pain she had been told of came later too, and Arthur did his best to chase it away; he soothed her damp skin and whispered sweet, little nothings in her ear, hoping to distract her from the unpleasant sensation. It was not one that could be ignored easily, but she was certain it would get better with time; it hurt twice or thrice, another maid had once told her, and after that, it brought the most unimaginable of ecstasies.

Arthur – for his part – seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed himself; his breathing was ragged and his skin rippled with little frissons of both pleasure and exertion, a light sheen of sweat coating his body.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before pulling away, his movements a tad slow and clumsy as he wrapped her in the coverlets with tender care. She smiled at the gesture, making herself comfortable against his side.

They knew it would not be long before knocks sounded at the door so they remained awake, trading hushed words and soft kisses as they waited for the sun to fully rise.

* * *

**A/N 2: Yes, I have made Arthur pass out right on top of Gwen's - rather imposing, if I say so myself - boobs. You didn't actually think I would make it all go perfectly and fairytale-like, did you? I do apologise if it felt like a letdown, though.**

**Also, I am quite aware that it is very improbable to catch a cold of such grandiose proportions overnight with just a small window open - especially for a man of Arthur's stamina - but the way I see it, it's a fic about a show with talking dragons...keeping it realistic went out the window a long time ago. **

**About the marital deed itself, no smut obviously, but I do hope you at least somewhat enjoyed all the implied sex that was had in this chapter. By the way, I realised something while writing this...back in those days, women didn't shave, right? So, bushy ladybits aside, their legs were hairy...like, _Yeti levels_ of hairy. Freaking jungles of hair. Their armpits too...**

**I've just ruined Arwen sexy times for everyone, haven't I?**


	20. The Forging of New Rules

**A/N: Long time, no update, I know. My apologies. **

**Now, this is the first post-finale update so I would like to hereby assure you that this story will be taking a very different course than the series. It will, as a whole and in general, be a happy story. **

* * *

Guinevere walked down the corridor at an unhurried pace, making her way to the council chambers she knew to be occupied at the moment.

It had been two days since the wedding and three more left before she was to be officially crowned Queen of Camelot; this meant a select few of Arthur's councilmen had very little time to try and dissuade the King from going through with her coronation. She thought those few men to be gutless weasels, really; never once had they had the decency to voice their objections to her personally, always politely smiling at her whilst almost tripping over themselves to get Arthur to change his mind once her back was turned.

It had been so the last time she and Arthur were to be married as well; the King had never burdened her with the knowledge, but she had still heard every gossip and whisper on the matter. She had let it slide then, letting Arthur deal with the troublesome councilmen on his own. Now was a different matter however; they could curse her name until their dying breaths, but they would respect her.

She came to a halt in front of the closed doors, their thickness doing little to prevent the arguing voices on the inside of the chambers. The guards made to open the doors for her, but she shook her head.

"Not yet," she told them quietly and though they were certainly confused, they complied with the request without a word.

On the other side of the door, Arthur was just about ready to behead three of his councilmen. Behind him, Merlin had even more gruesome forms of punishment in mind.

The meeting was meant to be a weekly, routine summary of the previous few days, but some of his advisors had turned it into yet another attempt to make him send Guinevere away. When he had first intended to marry her, they had objected too but he had put his foot down, much like he had with his uncle. He had done it again in the weeks leading up to the wedding this time too but the message didn't appear to have stuck, for they were protesting again with renewed fervour. The fact that he had already _married_ Guinevere seemed to present little importance.

"Sire, you must see reason," Lord Aelfraed said, "I understand you care for her, but - "

Arthur raised his hand to halt the man's speech. "I have heard you the last ten times, Aelfraed," he told the man sternly, "There is really no need to repeat yourself. I am not changing my mind and do you forget that we are _already married_?"

Elyan and Gwaine were making their way through the castle when they spotted Gwen standing in front of the council chambers with no apparent intention of entering them.

"What are you doing?" Elyan queried as the two Knights approached her with curiosity.

"Arthur is convening with his councilmen," she replied calmly, "and I am waiting for the right moment to make an appearance."

"What are they talking about?" Gwaine asked, making Gwen gesture toward the doors.

"Just listen," she instructed and the two fell silent, straining to hear the unfolding conversation within the chambers.

_I do not, milord, but she is still just a serving girl_, they heard Lord Aelfraed provide the King with an answer, _no alliances will be endangered, nor will any retribution be sought, if you cast her aside now._

Elyan huffed in outrage, his hand already reaching for his sword. "No retribution, eh?" he muttered as he took a step toward the doors, presumably to demonstrate just what kind of retaliation would ensue should his sister be treated in such a manner.

Guinevere pressed the back of her hand against his chest lightly. "Easy, Elyan," she cautioned, apparently not bothered in the slightest, "No blood is to be spilled over this."

"But, Gwen, he insul - "

"And I am grateful that you are willing to defend my honour," she cut in, softly but firmly, "but there is no need for your sword. I will take care of it my way."

_How dare you even suggest such a thing?_ They heard Arthur raise his voice at the offending lord, soon followed by another remark of protest.

_The vows they have exchanged are sacred_, Geoffrey interjected. _To treat them with such disrespect is an outrage!_

The comment unleashed a flood of rebuttals, from both supporters and protestants alike, resulting in a rather glorious amount of shouting, somewhat tampered by the wooden barrier. Arguments flew around in no particular order, and things such as her betrayal, the questionability of her loyalty it entailed, doubts in her capability to be Queen and the dilution of the royal bloodline were brought up during the discussion.

"Those worthless rats," Gwaine grumbled but made no move to barge inside and introduce them to the sharp end of his blade, mostly because he knew Gwen would forbid it. It didn't stop him from muttering curses under his breath, though.

"They always did say Camelot was an unusual kingdom."

The lightly spoken observation made Gwen smile and she craned her head sideways, grinning at the Queen of Nemeth. The latter stood a little ways down the corridor, seeming to have cut her stroll with King Olaf short upon noticing the peculiar sight in front of the council chambers.

"Quite the land you have chosen to rule, Guinevere," the Queen remarked next, obviously amused by the situation. Beside her, Olaf seemed to be torn between entertainment and disapproval.

"I don't think 'chosen' is the right word for it, milady," Gwen said, her smile unwavering.

"I daresay you've had more freedom of choice than I ever did," the other woman countered and though the words were spoken calmly, Gwen knew the sadness behind them. The Queen of Nemeth was quite the extraordinary woman but Guinevere knew of the shackles her royal standing presented; Mithian had told her once – while swearing her to secrecy – that her mother had, in her youth, loved a man other than Rodor. He too was heir to a throne and they had both hoped their parents would grant them marriage, even though their respective kingdoms were already in alliance. Such a wish was never accorded and she was sent to marry Rodor, while the boy she loved grew to be the rather fearsome Bayard of Mercia.

So, she supposed the Queen was quite right; she had indeed had more of a choice than any woman of royal blood.

"As always, milady, you make a fair point," Gwen agreed, her attention momentarily drawn back to the conversation inside the chambers, as she was quite certain she had heard Leon shout; it was a very rare occurrence to hear or see the loyal Knight lose his composure.

"No care for manners whatsoever," Olaf commented dryly, clearly finding this display distasteful. He was not particularly enthused with the idea of a serving girl being allowed to claim the crown but, no matter her origin, she was now a lady of the highest standing, the wife of a King. To speak of her with such insolence was simply a travesty. He also had to admit he never would have guessed Arthur's new bride was born a commoner had he not been told of the fact.

The Queen of Nemeth chuckled. "I am certain Guinevere will teach them some," she said, her eyes going to the younger woman. The latter smiled, understanding the significance of the look, her thoughts drifting to the invaluable lesson the experienced Queen had taught her.

_Gwen waited for the Queen to be left alone in Nemeth's primary council chambers, politely curtseying to the exiting lord. Once he was out of sight, she moved inside, carefully setting the pitcher of refreshments she carried upon the table. _

_The Queen smiled slightly. "You always seem to know people's needs before even they do, Gwen," she praised, gladly accepting the unexpected offering. _

_Her daughter's handmaiden smiled, shrugging it off. "I was taught to do so, Your Highness."_

_It had been roughly four months that she had spent in Nemeth, but Gwen had hardly ever been alone with the Queen. She was always at the Princess' side so, when she did converse with her mistress' mother, it was usually in presence of Mithian or Rodor, or both. The King and Princess were away now, though, hoping to sign a suitable peace treaty with Queen Annis. They were to meet on neutral territory, in Olaf's kingdom, seeing as both Nemeth and Caerleon counted the sovereign amongst their allies. Rodor had taken his daughter with him, to school her a bit further in matters of diplomacy and politics. The Queen was left behind in Nemeth and so was Gwen, for Mithian insisted someone she trusted implicitly stay with her mother while she was away; the Princess was as fiercely protective of her parents as they were of her. _

_Gwen had promised to see to the Queen's every need and, keeping true to her word, inquired whether Her Majesty would require anything else. _

_"Could you sit with me for a moment?" the older woman asked, "I feel I need a friendly face to look upon after having wasted the last hour of my life on Lord Clayborne."_

_Gwen's eyebrows rose at both the invitation and the animosity with which the Queen spoke of her latest visitor, but complied with the request nonetheless._

_"I do hope you won't think ill of me for speaking of a lord in such a way," the Queen added following the fleeting expression of incredulity which crossed Gwen's features._

_"You are the Queen, milady," Gwen said, "You may speak of whomever you wish in any way you see fit. Besides, I have known you to have a kind nature; if you speak of someone in such a manner, then they must have deserved it."_

_The aging sovereign laughed genuinely at the dutiful defence. "Indeed," she confirmed, sighing with weariness, "I dislike feeling such toward any member of the court, but I have not taken to Lord Clayborne in the fifteen years that I have known him."_

_"You needn't explain yourself to me, Your Highness," Gwen assured but the Queen flicked her wrist casually, dismissing the words. _

_"I know, Gwen. But I see that you are curious about my reasons, even if you do hide it quite well."_

_Gwen bit her lip; apparently, not well enough. She was indeed quite curious, as she had never seen the Queen express this sort of contempt towards anyone. The latter smiled. _

_"You are discreet and trustworthy, so I shall indulge your curiosity," she said, leaning back against her chair, raising her goblet for a sip, "You must already know that – in the eyes of some – a Queen does not garner the same amount of respect as her King. They think a woman weaker and believe they can, in her husband's absence, control her mind. Clayborne is such a man; has been for as long as I have known him."_

_"Has he disrespected you?" Gwen queried incredulously; she could not imagine King Rodor letting such a thing go unpunished. _

_The Queen chuckled lowly. "He wouldn't dare," she said, "not to my face. I am certain he holds very little – possibly none – genuine respect for me but he values his head far too much to ever risk it. He has only ever addressed and treated me as he was expected to but his heart is selfish and dishonest; cowardly."_

_Gwen pondered the words, feeling they were quite fitting indeed. She had not seen much of the lord but there was an air about him, one that reminded her of a few lords in Camelot's court. The ones who swore allegiance to first Uther then Arthur, but had had little trouble accepting Morgana on the throne if it meant they got to keep their heads. Their loyalty was not to the King, the kingdom or the people, only to themselves and they would go to any lengths to save their own necks. _

_Cowards. _

_"I have met men to the likes of him," she admitted, making the Queen nod._

_"They are in every kingdom and every court," the latter agreed, "Their cowardice breeds shrewdness and, unfortunately, it makes their counsel helpful at times. It is the only reason they are kept around, I'm afraid. It is certainly the only reason Clayborne is still in Nemeth's court."_

_Gwen nodded, recognising the truth in the words. "And what has he done to upset you now, milady?" she queried, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."_

_"I don't mind. And he hasn't done anything, really; it is just that I cannot stand the sight of him."_

_The Queen's tone carried nearly petulant exasperation and Gwen had to smile; it reminded her of Arthur and the way he would protest against people or circumstances that defied his personal wishes. _

_"But he no longer tries to defy me or influence my actions; I have made sure of that a long time ago," the Queen added, sounding rather pleased that she had succeeded in putting the lord in his place. _

_The remark made Gwen curious as to the sovereign's methods. "How did you achieve that?"_

_"Fear," the Queen replied simply, making Gwen frown._

_"Fear, milady?"_

_"Yes," the other women ascertained, "For men such as Clayborne – men of both power and cowardice – there is only one course of action you can take; you must show them the power you hold within your grasp, make them see it is far greater than theirs. And you must make them fear it."_

_She smiled as she caught the look on Gwen's face. "You do not approve?" she inquired, though she could already see the handmaiden did not find this strategy to her liking._

_Though Gwen's instinctive reaction was to assure she agreed with the Queen, lest the sovereign would think her insolent, she had the feeling an honest answer would be more appreciated. "I do not think fear is the way to earn the people's respect, Your Highness," she said cautiously, wondering if her outspoken manner would – once again – prove to be more trouble than it was worth. _

_The Queen didn't seem to find her opinion offensive. "Neither do I, Gwen, believe me," she said, "Both my husband and I aspire to be respected through kindness rather than fear but Clayborne, he doesn't value kindness; he doesn't value ideals or justice. Give him the opportunity and he will cause trouble. That is why I must resort to such means."_

_Gwen still looked unconvinced, chewing on her lip as she pondered the Queen's arguments. The latter made to approach the subject from a different angle. "You were almost crowned Queen as well, were you not?" she prompted, making Gwen grow uncomfortable. She knew the Queen didn't think any less of her for her past but it was still a topic she disliked speaking about; perhaps even more so now, since her heart was beginning to long for Camelot more than ever. _

_"I was, milady."_

_"Tell me then, how would you have handled a man such as Clayborne?" the Queen questioned, "You said you have met his kind; I assume it can only be in the kingdom you were set to rule beside the young Pendragon. And I don't imagine such members of the court would have taken kindly to your coronation…so tell me, how would you have dealt with them?"_

_Gwen stayed silent for a while, considering her answer. The truth was, she wouldn't have dealt with any of them; not personally, at the very least. When a few had protested, it had been Arthur who had ensured they remembered their roles; she had – though she hated to admit it – stood by the side, too insecure of herself to challenge these members of the court. She had been known to oppose them when she believed them to be wrong, certainly; to assert superiority over them was, however, a different matter entirely. _

_She cleared her throat as the Queen patiently waited for her response, a knowing smile on her face. "I…I don't know," Gwen finally admitted, "It was…it was Arthur who dealt with them."_

_"Yes, that would have settled that matter for a while," the Queen said, "and it would have worked very well while the King was in Camelot. But what would happen when he went on a quest or was absent for other reasons?" she challenged, giving Gwen a pointed look when the latter stuttered uncertainly. "You see, Gwen, therein lies the problem. If the respect you are given depends solely on the King's presence, you will lose it the moment he is gone. Those whose respect you have truly earned will stand by you but the others…they will tear you apart the first chance they are given, though they will never be discourteous. They will make you question yourself, they will infest you with doubt and, in the end, they will make you their puppet. It is why you must make them yield to your will from the start."_

_Gwen was silent, taking each and every word in. _

_"I refuse to be bullied by men whose minds are lesser than mine," the Queen went on, her tone one of calm yet fierce determination, "and I refuse to be brought down by the cowardly. And fear is the way to deal with cowards, Gwen."_

"Just as you have taught me, milady," Guinevere said softly, making the Queen of Nemeth grin widely.

Guinevere returned the smile before drawing her attention back to the doors; it was time.

"There is no need for you to stay," she told the Knights but they made no move to leave and remained standing on either side of her.

"I value your loyalty, I do, but it is really unnecessary for you to accompany me."

They still didn't budge.

She sighed. "Fine," she relented, "but do not intervene in any way," she warned before addressing the guards. "Open the doors, please."

As the men obliged, Olaf made to steer his companion further down the corridor; she shook her head. "Let us linger a while longer," she proposed, dragging the rather confused King to the side, just out of sight, "Trust me, you will not want to miss this."

Merlin was certain carnage would ensue should the argument go on; the warlock thought the entire display to be ridiculous but, then again, Gwen had always been known to solicit strong feelings on both sides. He merely feared her supporters would soon take to obliterating their protesting counterparts. And everyone knew who would have to clean up _that_ mess.

All shouting and arguing ceased abruptly as the doors were pushed open, revealing the woman of the hour herself, Gwaine and Elyan at her heels. She moved inside slowly and gracefully, with an air of calm countenance about her. Merlin smiled as he watched her approach; she would give them hell.

"Guinevere," Arthur squeaked out, suddenly very uneasy, much like every other man in attendance.

"Milords," Guinevere greeted, bowing her head a fraction, "I do apologise for the interruption but I could not help but overhear your discussion. And I believe I should be present when I am the subject of your argument, don't you?"

No one responded, all evidently too stunned and uncomfortable to form a coherent sentence. They reminded her of naughty boys who had just been caught in mischief by their mothers.

"It would seem you have objections," she went on, coming to a stand at the head of the table opposite from where Arthur sat, "doubts and suspicions. Please, I would like to hear them; if there is anything you wish to tell me, I encourage you to do so."

Her encouragement did little to loosen the councilmen's lips and they exchanged looks, obviously having much to say but not speaking. Gwen had expected as much; they would not dare insult her directly in front of Arthur. If she were to show any sign that their words had truly grieved her, the King would have their heads on the spot and they knew it..

Though she knew she could play that card, she decided against it. After all, it was her servant's origins they held against her; it was only fitting she showed them they were not to be dismissed so lightly. Servants were invisible to nobles but their ears were everywhere; her previous position had allowed her to become privy to secrets she was certain they wished to keep hidden from the King.

"It would appear I was mistaken," she observed casually before turning her eyes to Aelfraed. She had always disliked him and it was not only because of his narrow-minded views. "My Lord Aelfraed, I meant to ask, how fares your grandson?" she queried with feigned amicability, satisfied to see his shoulders stiffen in discomfort, "I _am certain_ he will grow to be the very image of his father."

The lord's eyes widened but Gwen willed her own to remain steadily on his; though her heart thundered with nervousness, she refused to back down now. Lesser men whose sins surpassed her own and whose hypocrisy was outright shameful would no longer be allowed to consider themselves superior.

Lord Aelfraed preached honour and traditional values when his own daughter was an adulteress. Gwen had known the lady for years and it was no secret to her that the virtuously-portrayed woman had lain with many men beside her husband; Gwen dared say it was her husband's bed she shared the _least_ and her father knew of it well. Such things would not be precarious during Uther's reign, as the late King overlooked his court's members' wrongdoings as long as they didn't cross him directly, but Arthur was different kind of man; he believed the kingdom's values had to be upheld in every situation and he would not take kindly to the ways of Aelfraed and his family.

It would seem the lord was very aware of this, as were the others who shared his manner. It would also appear they understood the true meaning behind her words quite well.

She proceeded with a few more remarks, questions that would – in any other situation – be ones of polite curiosity; they were however, marks of the knowledge she held, knowledge these lords may find troublesome.

By the time she was finished, Arthur seemed both confused and awed while Merlin grinned rather proudly behind him. Gaius and Leon seemed to be experiencing some trouble in concealing their smirks.

"Well, I shan't keep you any further, milords," Guinevere spoke again, "I do hope the rest of this meeting proves to be quite fruitful."

She made her exit on that note, with her brother and Gwaine dutifully in tow.

Silence reigned for some moments even after the doors shut but when the conversation recommenced, it seemed no one had anything more to say about the future Queen's presumed ineptness.

"I must say that I am impressed," Olaf commented as Guinevere and her two loyal Knights disappeared out of sight, "The girl knows politics."

"She takes every lesson to heart," the Queen of Nemeth said fondly, honoured to know she had had a hand in moulding the former maidservant into a worthy sovereign.

"That is a mark of a great ruler and councillor," Olaf agreed, "I do think Arthur will prosper with her by his side."

"It is true that behind every great man stands an even greater woman."

"Well, I'm not so certain about _that_."

The Queen rolled her eyes. "You never change, Olaf."

* * *

Guinevere greeted the late hours of the night seated by the window of the royal chambers, watching Arthur snore softly on the bed. She shook her head as he rolled from one side of the large bed to the other repeatedly, upsetting the coverlets and pillows as he went.

Arthur's sleeping manner was a hazard of marriage she hadn't counted on. She had spent her life sleeping in small, narrow beds which made excessive movement a thing of peril; her husband, however, had only ever had absurdly large ones for his use alone and it would appear he had made a habit of covering every inch of the bedspread at various points in the night. Said habit did not miraculously disappear with the added presence of another body by his side, proving to be quite unfortunate for Guinevere. In the couple of nights they had spent together, she had experienced Arthur's arms, legs or, in some instances, his entire body landing on her. She feared that, at this rate, she would be attending her own coronation with a broken nose and half of her teeth missing.

Or not attend it at all, as he would suffocate her before she had the chance to be crowned.

Her eyes went from her husband – who seemed to have made it his unconscious mission to conquer the entirety of the bed – to the window, deciding to wait for a few more moments before stepping out. It was the night of the new moon and, unless Maerwynn had been mistaken, it was the night she would see Kilgharrah again.

She hadn't told Arthur of this, for she knew he would insist on accompanying her. Possibly with an entire squad of armed Knights as well. She knew he was only concerned for her safety but she didn't want to make the dragon ill at ease; besides, she was yet to truly convince the King that Kilgharrah meant no harm. That day would come eventually, though; she was certain of it.

She smiled as she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, recalling Arthur's words on the laws against magic and his desire to alter them. He had brought the subject up earlier that very day – after having made a spectacle of kneeling at her feet and professing his devotion to her following her performance during the council meeting – and asked her to help him put a suitable strategy in place, one that would begin to change the people's views where magic was concerned. They both knew that simply forcing the laws upon the people would not do them any good; Morgana's tactics were proof of that. They needed the change to be accepted gradually, as it would only then stay in the people's minds.

Uther had, decades ago, forced his own will upon the people and it had cast an ugly shadow over them all, tearing hearts and families apart. Morgana had attempted to do the same, though she had been unsuccessful. Arthur strived to thread differently from both his father and sister and Guinevere was determined to help him along as much as she could.

She reached the clearing beyond the castle, her eyes going to the skies as she waited for the dragon to appear. He did so by causing the equivalent of a small windstorm, blowing her hair into a mess.

"We meet again, young Guinevere," he greeted, observing her with curiosity, "Though perhaps 'young Queen' would be more fitting."

She smiled as she smoothed her hair back into place. "Not quite Queen yet," she countered, "I am to be crowned in three days' time."

"It is only a formality at this point," Kilgharrah dismissed, "It has _always_ been but a formality."

Her head tipped to the side. "What do you mean?"

"You have always been known as Queen. And you always shall be."

There it was again, one of those obscure and cryptic statements. She decided not to bother inquiring about it.

"How have you been, Kilgharrah?" she asked instead, "I have not seen you in a long time."

He looked surprised to be questioned on his wellbeing, making Gwen smile. "I am trying to be polite," she clarified, amused by his baffled expression.

"The ways of humans confuse me," he stated, obviously considering pleasantries of such sort to be beyond his understanding.

Gwen chuckled at that before a peculiar sound caught her attention. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she heard the high-pitched howl again, jumping backwards as something white – and apparently clumsy – landed next to Kilgharrah with a thud. The latter didn't seem pleased.

"Aithusa, I told you to stay in the cave," he chastised but the baby dragon didn't appear to be one for obedience, completely ignoring his much older caretaker as he straightened.

"Oh my," Gwen whispered as she observed the newest arrival, marvelling at the sight of him. He seemed so endearing at his young age, nothing like an imposing creature to be feared she knew Kilgharrah was, impossibly white with the largest blue eyes she had ever seen.

"This is Aithusa," the Great Dragon made the introduction begrudgingly.

Gwen approached Aithusa slowly, smiling as he chirped excitedly. "I thought you were the last of your kind," she said, her hand reaching out to pet the younger dragon's head.

"I was, until recently," Kilgharrah began to explain, "But the young warlock rescued the last dragon egg and hatched Aithusa; I am no longer alone."

Gwen's eyes watered slightly at the reminder of the loneliness the dragon had experienced. She could not image what it would feel like, to have no one to call your kin or even your friend; no one to talk to.

"One day, Kilgharrah," she promised, "One day, you will be truly free. As will Aithusa."

The young dragon chirped again at the mention of his name before setting out to impress Guinevere by performing acrobatics in the air above; he finished the display by – rather ungracefully – colliding with a tree.

She winced. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Kilgharrah grumbled.

Gwen laughed lightly as she watched Aithusa attempt to get back to his feet before turning her attention back to the other dragon. "This last egg the young warlock rescued," she began, "is it the same one Arthur set out to destroy some time ago?"

"It is," the dragon confirmed, "I can only be grateful he wasn't successful."

Guinevere felt a familiar guilt rise within her heart, one she seemed to be experiencing frequently as of late; the knowledge of the pain that had been caused to all creatures of magic was a heavy burden. "I am sorry," she apologised, though she knew she hadn't been to one to seek the egg's destruction, "for everything. I truly am."

"There is no need to apologise, Guinevere."

"Isn't there?" she countered, her eyes going to the endearing, squealing creature by the trees. A child; for all intents and purposes, he was only a child. "I always thought myself to be a smart girl," she said, "a sensible girl. And yet I followed Uther's ways…out of all the opinions I could have taken to, I took to his. Those of a tyrant…the man who killed my father."

She shook her head in regret, making Kilgharrah frown. "Uther was the one to cause a rift between our kinds, to turn us against each other. You suffered at the hands of those with magic; I suppose it is natural to have taken to his ways after that."

She sighed. "Perhaps," she conceded, "but I still should have known better."

She blinked her tears away as Aithusa returned to their side, now seeking to show her the few words he had learned. He was still very young and the humans' tongue was not something dragons could master overnight, but he seemed to be doing quite well. She had a few more questions for Kilgharrah too, mostly about Morgana. He warned her not to trust the witch and though Gwen knew Morgana's crimes could not be erased, she also believed her hardened heart may soften if she was to see change where attitudes toward magic were concerned.

It was nearly dawn when she finally decided to return to the castle; Arthur was certain to cause unnecessary alarm should he wake without her by his side.


	21. The Dawn of a Golden Age

**A/N: You know how sometimes, in absurdly long fics like this one, you get chapters that are nothing but drivel, drivel and more drivel? Well, this is such a chapter. Which is probably sad, because it marks - what is probably - this story's biggest milestone. It also hits the 100.000 words mark, effectively making this fic the longest thing I have ever written, and I'm only about two thirds done with it. All the deities of the world help me. **

**Anyway, I really hope this doesn't bore you to death.**

**Also, everything post-coronation I have in store gets started in the next update and the first item on that list is that warrior-queen!Gwen moment I keep promising you. It will kick off a series of events, which will gradually resolve all the issues posed by this fic. Because, unlike the series' TPTB, I actually like to tie up all of my loose ends. **

**Finally, in case anyone needs clarification, all the bits in italics in this chapter are pre-4x11 quotes from the series. From episodes 1x01, 1x03, 1x05, 2x02, 2x10, 3x06, 3x10, 4x05 and 4x09, to be more precise. **

**That all said, I hope you at least enjoy some parts of this update :)**

* * *

The doors opened for her, revealing the long pathway to the two thrones, where the King stood waiting for her.

Light streamed through the tall windows, catching the bejewelled embroidery of her gown and making the small crystals shimmer under the sun's golden glow. It was a beautiful day, cold but bright, without a single cloud to mar the sky.

"The sun shines for you, milady," one of the maids had told her as she was being dressed for the coronation ceremony and although Gwen doubted the heavens would clear for her alone, she had thanked the girl for her kind words.

She paused just beyond the threshold, allowing herself a momentary respite before undertaking the journey towards her awaiting crown. The sea of red and gold nearly blinded her; the whole of Camelot had come to bear witness to this moment, and those who could not fit inside the room filled the courtyard and passageways, all wishing to see this unprecedented event. It was unheard of, the story of which she was about to write the final chapter. Or perhaps it was but the beginning of another tale entirely.

Rows upon rows of observers seemed to stretch on for leagues, revealing the King she now called her husband at the crimson sea's end; he stood tall and proud and she knew, by his own admission, that he considered it his privilege to make her the Queen of this great kingdom. It had been a long road to this moment, one she had never imagined herself undertaking.

Not all that long ago, she was nothing but a simple serving girl who would roam the fields every morning and thread the flowers she picked through her tresses, noticed by few and cherished by even fewer. She had a simple heart and only wished to lead a happy if uncomplicated life; she would stand in the corners, her mind brewing many thoughts but her mouth scarcely voicing any. Shy and introverted but still opinionated, she was hardly likely to catch the future King's eye.

She breathed in deeply as she took her first step towards him, beginning to shorten the seemingly endless distance between them.

_Who'd want to marry Arthur?_

The words she had spoken all those years ago seemed laughable now. Of course, she had always found the Prince handsome and intriguing but heavens, had he been insufferable. Arrogant, proud and condescending, his perceived personality held very little appeal to her at the time. Then she began to see what was truly in his heart, when he was not trying to be the perfect monarch or impress his father. She saw kindness, courage and, above all, fairness; it made her see him in a different light, her feelings had begun to grow and so did her faith in him. She believed in him then as she did years later, not once doubting his potential for greatness.

A great King.

That was how it had all started. He had shown her his heart and she had clung onto its goodness, allowing her own to love him. Destinies, Kilgharrah had told her, were forged from what lay within one's heart, and if that was true, then she supposed her fate – both their fates – could not have gone any other way.

_One day, you will be King of Camelot. And I cannot be your Queen._

But the fates that had brought them together were devious, too. To pair the servant and the prince was a cruel thing, cruel to both their hearts. Guinevere had never believed the laws of men to bear more importance than those of love but the fact remained that they were very real. Their ranks placed them at opposite sides, the void between them a seemingly insurmountable one; Kings did not marry servants, it was simply not the way things were done. Their love defied reason and to some, it was incomprehensible.

_Is what I want really that insane?_

_Yes, Arthur. From anyone's perspective, apart from yours and mine, it's completely insane._

Like Arthur's father, for instance. Not that Guinevere would ever imagine such a cruel, jaded man capable of comprehending a bond which was not clouded by matters of status and blood. Sorcery, she recalled; sorcery was the only way he knew how to explain it.

_Why else would Arthur fall in love with someone like you?_

_I don't expect someone like you to understand that._

No, she really didn't. A heart of stone such as Uther's was not one that would understand the love his son had for a mere blacksmith's daughter. He had meant to burn her at the pyre for it, because of his ignorance and arrogance. She had been lucky, unlike so many others before her, to have her innocence proven where the use of magic was concerned but she knew Uther had still considered her love a crime to be punished; he would have banished her, had he been shown that Arthur's feelings for her were true.

He, along with all the norms and skewed values he preached, had been one of the greatest obstacles for her and Arthur. But the ties which linked them together ran deep and Arthur would not have given her up, not for his father or the throne he was destined for. It had been shocking, to know he would be willing to forsake his crown and kingdom just to be with her; to be held so dear by a man of such power was terrifying. It was a burden, though she supposed she would be laughed at for suggesting such a thing; they would call her mad for sure. She was loved by the King, the most powerful man in the land; to see it as a burden would certainly be deemed ludicrous. Nevertheless, the importance he regarded her with was not to be taken lightly; each one of his enemies would know exactly where to strike, should they seek to hurt him. Morgana had known this well.

She didn't care much for the danger, though. All the threats, from Uther, Morgana or any other; she would see them all through, if it meant she would have him.

_I promise you that when I am King, things will be different. We can be together._

And he too had been willing to defy anything or anyone that opposed their union. His place was with her, he had once said. He had kept a place for her at his Round Table too, prepared to commit himself to a life of solitude if she would not have him back.

While, in the depths of his heart, his devotion to her was unwavering, the decisiveness of his mind was anything but.

_But now that I'm King, it's not appropriate._

His uncertain heart was a burden too. He always had the best intentions, she knew that, but his resolve wavered with the slightest push and many had taken advantage of it. She liked to think he was more assured of himself now, more confident in his own judgement. At least, she really hoped he was.

Still, with all his doubts and insecurities, he always held her close to his heart. Out of all those who surrounded him, he held _her_ the closest. Only ever her.

_I've never loved another._

But she had.

Lancelot had been brave and honourable and had treated her like a lady when she had only been a bumbling seamstress in an odiously yellow sack of a dress. And she had loved him for it all, both his noble heart and his admiration for her. Not the way she loved Arthur, but she and the Knight had still shared an undeniable bond.

_Come on, just for the sake of argument, if you had to: Arthur or Lancelot?_

_But I don't have to and I never will. _

Oh, silly her.

Never had she imagined a choice between the two men would be given to her, but it had been, and more than once. The first time, she had chosen Lancelot. Her decision had been for naught as he had left her behind, for a reason she could not have understood then. Lancelot's self-sacrificing nature had made him disregard both their hearts' desires at the time because he knew she belonged with another.

Long years passed before they met again and this second time around, she had chosen Arthur. Lancelot had remained dear to her but it was the future King who had her heart. The Knight had known of this and had once again stood aside, watching as the woman he loved walked on the Prince's arm. And this time too, he had sacrificed himself for their happiness. For her. While she knew he had given his life on the Isle of the Blessed out of his loyalty to Arthur as well, she also knew he had done it, first and foremost, for her.

She may be Arthur's Guinevere but he had been _her_ Lancelot.

And for his kindness and devotion, she would always cherish him in her memory.

Then, against all odds, the same choice had been presented to her for a third time. And, also against all odds, it would appear her heart had chosen Lancelot.

_What happened, Guinevere?_

She couldn't say. Months upon months had been spent trying to come up with an explanation but, in the end, no truly satisfying one had been found. Arthur had come to blame it on himself but she wasn't so certain the fault lay with him; after all, she had forgiven all his mistakes and, when he had asked her to marry him, she could not have been happier.

No matter her, however obscure, reasons, the fact remained that she had betrayed him.

_I don't want to see you dead, Guinevere. But I don't want to see you. I cannot look on you every day. You will Camelot at first light, your return upon pain of death._

Her stride down the aisle slowed slightly as she glanced around from the corner of her eye.

Knights, lords, ladies, courtiers and servants, they all stood as one. The sea parted for her now, but it had not always been so. She had been shunned, forced from the only home she had ever known by the man who ruled over them all and they had followed his example. Some, she knew, had been reluctant to do so but they had still bowed to Arthur's will. Not that she believed she was owed any lenience for her sin, no; she merely reflected on how easy it was for a man of ultimate power to bend the minds of others. It made her think back on Uther and how his thirst for blood and retribution had turned the kingdoms against an entire people; it was a dangerous thing, all that power wielded by one man alone. It had certainly cost her much, by both Uther and Arthur's hand.

Still, she had always believed there to be strength in forgiveness and she would choose it over resentment on any occasion; she would endure pain and sorrow, but she would never allow her heart to be consumed by bitterness, like Morgana had.

Guinevere neared the endless waters' shore, where her King waited. It was always the hardest, that final step on the journey.

_All these years, I've waited for you._

For so long, she had waited. Waited for Uther to be gone, waited for Arthur to find his footing as sovereign, waited for him to finally make up his mind. And then, just when she thought every obstacle and every setback had been overcome, her own heart had failed her. Her greatest wish was mere hours away from fulfilment, but it had all gone wrong and all the years, all the hurt, they had been wasted.

But here she was again, walking down the same path she was meant to so many months ago.

It had been roughly a year. A year, during which she had learned much, seen much. She would never say all the heartache the separation had caused to be a good thing, but her time away from Camelot had certainly been very instructive.

Many truths that had once eluded her were now clear as day and she believed she would be a better Queen for this newly instilled clarity.

Magic, she now knew, was no crime, nor was it necessarily a practice of evil. To follow absolutes and others' opinions blindly was foolish, she knew that too. The goodness of the heart was to be valued above all else, including origin, allegiances and kingdoms' borders, she was more certain of that than ever before.

All these lessons had not been easy but she believed them to be invaluable and herself worthier of the responsibility she would carry for them.

The first row of attendees was now behind her as she drew closer still to the awaiting thrones, her posture growing more relaxed as her eyes met her husband's.

There she was, the girl with the flowers in her hair, waiting for the King to present her with a crown of her own. It was quite a peculiar destiny.

_Some people are just born to be Queen._

It would certainly appear so, if Kilgharrah was to be believed. Prophets spoke of her for centuries, it would seem, and she found it most baffling; she could hardly imagine it, men and women who belonged to a time and world so different to her own, seeing her image in their minds' eyes and speaking of her future.

She wondered, sometimes, if they had known everything about her and the events that would lead to this moment. She wondered what they had thought of her, too. Had they admired her or had she merely been yet another in a never-ending string of visions, just another job in the day? The druids believed her destiny was one she was to be respected for and, in a way, she believed she owed it - both to them and the prophets who had foretold her fate - to live up to those ancient words.

She also wanted to make those who had shown faith in her proud. Her parents, her brother, her loyal Knights, her friends, Merlin, Gaius, Lancelot, Arthur; she wished to make them proud.

Her steps came to a halt at the long road's end and she lowered herself to the ground, as she knelt before the King.

He smiled down at her for a moment, a smile of true contentment. Her eyes were trained on the crown Arthur was offered to place upon her head, though. It was a beautiful crown, heavy with gold and glinting jewels. She would be lying if she said a part of her didn't still fear everything such a piece entailed for its wearer but fear had never been her master and it would certainly not be now. Besides, she had Arthur.

The King lifted the precious ware carefully, holding it reverently in his hands as he brought it just above her head.

"By the sacred laws vested in me," he spoke, his steady voice seeming to carry across the large room despite its modest volume, "I crown you Guinevere, Queen of Camelot."

Her eyelids drifted shut as the weight settled atop her head, its coolness foreign against her forehead.

She was Queen.

Guinevere opened her eyes to see Arthur's waiting hands and she offered him her own gladly, rising to her feet. One more step and she was by his side, turning to face the assembled crowd.

"Long live the Queen," the King proclaimed, making her hold her breath.

The room seemed to stand frozen for a moment, with a stillness as absolute as her heart in between its stuttering beats. Time flowed so slowly as everyone's shoulders rose and chests puffed, allowing for the air to seep into their lungs.

"Long live the Queen!"

A shudder raised the hairs on her arms as chants filled the grand space. The voices bounced off the walls and filled her ears a thousand times over, as the whole of Camelot sang for the serving girl who became Queen.

_It's alright, don't worry about me. There's no point crying about it. _

Her wandering eyes were drawn to the first row and the face of one of her oldest, dearest friends. His voice was the loudest as he praised her name, and she remembered the time, so very long ago, when his face offered her comfort as the dungeon's bars separated her from the world she was sentenced to leave in flames.

_I mean, I'm not saying that you are going to cry about me. Obviously, I don't think that._

She truly hadn't expected anyone, aside from her beloved father, to ever shed any tears for her. Her brother had already left at that point and she could never have expected her mistress, no matter how kind her nature had been then, to mourn her death. She had been insignificant, a mere commoner made to fade into oblivion.

_Please, one thing. You don't have to, but…_

It had always been somewhat of a fear of hers, to be completely and utterly forgotten. Nothing but a lowly servant, meaningless compared to the names that lived long in the minds of men. She sought no fame, no splendour of glory, but the thought of fading completely – as though she had never even existed – frightened her. All people should be remembered, shouldn't they? They all lived once, loved once; they had had a place in this world. She had always wanted to live on in someone's memory, if only that of one soul alone.

_Remember me._

Though Guinevere would never learn the true extent of her destiny whilst she lived, her legacy was certain to be engrained in tales of the world's lands for centuries to come. It would, at times, become distorted and, perhaps, woven with lies by those who had not seen her heart. Not all would mention her name in kindness and not all would wish to hold her in their memories fondly, but they would know of her. Be it in flattery and praise or in mockery and contempt, she was to be remembered.

Her Majesty, Guinevere Pendragon, the blacksmith's daughter who came to wear the crown. The Once and Future Queen.


	22. The Ghouls of Yesteryear

"Come," Guinevere instructed following the knock that sounded at the royal chambers' door, smiling as she saw Merlin enter with a tray of food.

"Your supper, milady," he informed her as he set the tray before her, making her roll her eyes.

"We're alone, Merlin," she said, "There is no need for such formalities."

He broke into a grin at the words, dropping all pretences of propriety as he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. It had been a little over two weeks since his friend's coronation and he could hardly keep himself from smiling every hour of every day. Everything was finally coming together. The thrones were occupied by the destined King and Queen, both of them open to the idea of lifting the ban on magic, and Morgana posed no danger anymore; for the first time in years, he felt like he could finally breathe easily.

"Have you eaten?" Gwen queried, gesturing to the food, "If you haven't, please help yourself to anything you like."

Merlin considered the offer for less than a second before snatching a piece of chicken. "Thanks."

"I know you're busy helping Arthur and Gaius all day long," she shrugged the gratitude off, "It barely leaves you any time to think of yourself."

_Bless her and her kind heart_, Merlin thought fondly as he munched on the chicken leg. "Gaius has been going easy on me, actually," he commented, "It's Arthur who doesn't give me as much as a moment to rest."

"I believe it's his way of keeping you close without actually telling you he _wants_ you by his side," Gwen told him, grinning at his barely concealed smile. "No matter what he says, he considers you his closest friend, Merlin."

"I know," the warlock said a tad shyly, "and it is how I see him as well. But, I also count _you _among my closest friends," he added, "So, tell me; just how heavy is that crown of yours?"

The question was phrased teasingly but Gwen knew her friend wished to know how she was handling her newfound responsibility. The weeks following her coronation had been rather hectic and they hadn't really gotten a chance to sit down for a proper chat. "It is lighter than I expected, actually," she said, "Though I do believe it is because Arthur is trying to carry most of the load himself."

Merlin clucked his tongue. "Damn. And he thought he was being so clever at hiding his intentions from you."

"He does think himself so clever, doesn't he?"

"He thinks himself to be the most clever person in the world."

Gwen scrunched her nose. "He really isn't."

Merlin burst forth laughing at her comment, nearly choking on the bite he had just taken. "He definitely isn't," he agreed after having recovered, "but let's not tell him that."

"It will be our secret," Gwen promised playfully, waiting for Merlin to finish chewing before broaching a more serious subject. "Speaking of our secrets," she began, "I met Kilgharrah again some days before my crowning, just as Maerwynn had foretold."

The warlock nodded, having already known of this. He had specifically asked Kilgharrah to meet Guinevere on the night of the new moon and was certain the dragon had not ignored his words. "Was it a fruitful meeting?" he enquired, always curious to hear of Gwen's thoughts on the Great Dragon. It was still rather odd for him, to be able to discuss – with this amount of freedom – the subject with someone other than Gaius.

"As fruitful as the others," she assured, pursing her lips. "Did you know of the existence of another dragon?" she asked, "A young one. His name is Aithusa."

Merlin did his best to keep his expression surprised, lest he would reveal too much. After all, he had told Gwen that he had only met Kilgharrah once; it would raise her suspicions should he tell her he knew Aithusa well too. So, still mindful of keeping his own secret, he shook his head.

"Well, he is quite young, as I said," Gwen went on, her expression growing troubled, "He is nothing but a child."

"What's bothering you, Gwen?" Merlin asked, sensing her unease. He knew she would not be troubled by the existence of another dragon; it had to be something else.

She took a deep breath. "Every one of his kind, save Kilgharrah, is dead," she spoke, "And they cannot be brought back. A child has been denied his family because of one man; a man who could not bear the weight of guilt and decided to slaughter an entire people instead."

Merlin sighed, touched by her compassion. Then again, Gwen had always been known to have a big heart. "That wasn't your fault, Gwen."

"Does that mean I should not feel for him?" she countered, "I followed Uther's opinions too. I…I wished to see Kilgharrah dead when he attacked Camelot. And, when Arthur sought to destroy the last dragon egg, I thought he was right in doing so. If he had succeeded, Aithusa would never have been hatched. But…he is so sweet, he…tried to impress me by showing me the words he had learned."

Merlin's eyes filled with tears as he listened to her words and heard the affection behind them, the affection for a young creature of magic. He wondered sometimes, if things would have been different, had he only shown _her_ the good in sorcery; if, had _she_ known it was not truly evil by nature, she would have changed Arthur's mind as well long ago.

She had an open, compassionate heart and, if she saw goodness in someone, she would feel for them. She only needed to understand them.

He also wondered if she would accept _him_, should he tell her who he really was. The problem was, Gwen condemned deceit; she would perhaps not think ill of him for having magic, but she would not appreciate all the lies he had told her over the years.

He rested his hand atop hers in comfort. "You didn't have all the facts," he soothed her troubled mind, "You couldn't have known there was good in those with magic."

"You did," she countered, "You let Kilgharrah be free. You knew."

Once again, Merlin felt the guilt worm through his heart. Yes, he knew. He knew because he was one of them.

But he couldn't tell her that; not yet. "I had Gaius," he said instead, "He told me of the other side of sorcery, the one Uther sought to bury underneath his hatred."

He could see how it burdened her, the knowledge that she had been wrong in her views, but he also knew she would do right thing now that she knew the truth. "Uther was the one to poison the minds of so many, including yours, with his ignorance," he ascertained, "You are not to blame. And neither is Arthur. And, if you wish to make it up to those who have suffered, then I believe you already know what to do."

She smiled gratefully, squeezing his fingers with her own. "Help Arthur make everyone see the truth as well," she answered, "Help him build a fair and just kingdom."

He returned her smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude he dared not express build inside him; he and the kind-hearted Queen, they would steer Arthur in the right direction. They would help him build the greatest kingdom the world had ever known.

"Does he know?" he queried, genuinely curious, "About Aithusa?"

She stifled her tears before responding. "He does," she confirmed, "Though he wasn't too happy about me having gone to meet the dragons alone in the middle of the night."

"And what did he say? About the other dragon, I mean."

"I think his pride was wounded more than anything else, really. First he learned that he hadn't managed to kill the Great Dragon, which had made him celebrated as a hero, and now he also learned his grand quest to destroy the last dragon was a failure too; I think his warrior's pride was damaged more than anything else."

Merlin chuckled lightly; yes, he could certainly picture Arthur being irritated by _that_. "But he didn't want to kill Aithusa or anything of the sort?"

"No. He…he knows his father was wrong. And he trusts me when I say neither dragon means us any harm."

Merlin smiled reassuringly. "Then _you_ have nothing to feel troubled about."

She appreciated his support, cherished it, and was about to hug him – no matter how difficult their current sitting arrangements made it – when Arthur himself strutted through the doors. He had been at a meeting, having learned some news that could prove useful.

He paused at the sight before him, taking note of his wife's partially eaten supper and his manservant's grease-covered fingers.

"Have you been eating the Queen's food?" he directed his question at Merlin, narrowing his eyes.

The manservant looked extremely guilty under the King's disapproving eyes, making Guinevere intervene. "I told him to help himself to the food," she said, "He barely gets any time to eat with all the chores you have him do."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's his job," he remarked dryly, glaring at Merlin some more before his expression softened as he kissed his wife's forehead.

He then proceeded to settling into the chair opposite of Merlin's, his eyes focusing on the overflowing tray before him with a certain longing.

Guinevere chuckled. "You've not eaten either, have you?" she ventured, receiving confirmation when a hungry gurgle could be heard from the depths of her husband's stomach. It was not a moment later that Merlin's own stomach echoed the sound. The two men exchanged looks before turning towards her as one, their eyes like those of pleading pups.

She sighed as she pushed the tray further down the table, centring it at equal distance between the two. "Have at it," she told them, shaking her head when they dug into the food like they had been starved for months.

They, naturally, bickered over the food like children and, when there was but one carrot left on the plate, argued over who should get it. Arthur proclaimed that, as King, it was rightfully his, to which Merlin objected, accusing him of being a fat prat.

Always one for equality, Guinevere settled the matter by snapping the carrot in two, giving each man a piece of identical size.

Once both their bellies were sufficiently full, the Queen inquired over the meeting Arthur had just returned from.

"The rumours of trouble on Lot's northern borders are getting louder," the King informed, "No one can yet say for sure who these attackers are, but they are certainly causing Lot a great deal of damage."

"They could be bandits or a number of warlords' men," Guinevere suggested, "taking opportunity of Lot's weakened forces."

"Indeed," Arthur agreed, "The disease which decimated his army is said to have taken the lives of hundreds of his men. It could take years to rehabilitate his forces fully."

"That makes his kingdom very weak," Merlin commented, "And Lot has made no alliances with any of the other kingdoms…he is easy prey for any warlord or other invader."

Both Gwen and Arthur noticed the slight fear in Merlin's tone, as was to be expected. After all, Ealdor was in Lot's kingdom.

"I know you are worried about what this may mean for your village," Gwen said, placing a comforting hand upon his forearm, "But don't fear the worst just yet. Ealdor lies on the kingdom's southern border and, so far, the threat has only been on the northern one."

"Besides, I have a plan," Arthur told them, causing them both to eye him somewhat apprehensively. His ingenious plans had a tendency to be…well, not all that ingenious.

He pursed his lips at the looks they were giving him. "It's a good plan," he maintained indignantly.

"Alright," Guinevere allowed, "let's hear it."

"I will send a messenger to Lot's kingdom, offering Camelot's help in dealing with the issue on the northern borders."

"You are going to send your Knights to fight Lot's battle?" Merlin asked slowly, as if to confirm he had heard the King properly.

The latter nodded proudly, making Guinevere smile knowingly. "You hope an offer of military assistance will ease the path to an alliance with Lot," she concluded and Arthur grinned fully this time.

"Precisely."

Still, Merlin frowned. "Is that wise?" he queried, "To risk the lives of your men for Lot? It's a kind offer, but Lot doesn't care much for kindness."

"That may be so, but he is not stupid," Arthur countered, "He knows that, in the state his army's in, his kingdom will be vulnerable for years to come. An alliance with Camelot would certainly give his land protection and he is in no position to turn down such an offer. Helping him deal with the current problem will be a sign of good faith on our part."

He looked rather pleased with himself for the plan he had crafted, but frowned when he saw Guinevere's expression change from smiling to worried. "What's the matter?"

She sighed before responding. "If Lot accepts your assistance, you will ride out as well, will you not?"

He nodded, as if it went without saying. "I must lead my men," he said simply, "And besides, it would make an alliance all the more probable if I am there in person. Talking to Lot face to face would be much more effective than a mere correspondence. Much quicker, too."

Guinevere's troubled expression only seemed to worsen at his words, prompting him to take her hand in his. "I'll be fine," he promised as he kissed her knuckles gently, bringing forth the tiniest of smiles from his wife, "Besides, we are yet to see if Lot accepts my offer," he added before rising to his feet and stretching with a grunt.

"Be of some use and prepare the water for my bath, Merlin," he said as he stepped further into the chambers, discarding pieces of clothing as he went.

His manservant sighed at the mess he was making and moved to stand as well, only to be stopped by Gwen's firm hand on his shoulder.

"We both know Lot will accept," she told him, her voice low and serious, "And Arthur _will _ride to face these unknown men. So, just promise me you will keep him safe."

Merlin smiled. "It's all I've ever done," he said reassuringly, "I'll make sure he returns in one piece; you have my word."

The words seemed to make Gwen relax somewhat. "Thank you, Merlin."

* * *

As Guinevere had expected, the messenger had returned with an acceptance from Lot; the sovereign would welcome Arthur's assistance and, in exchange, would be willing to discuss a possible alliance, just as the King of Camelot had hoped.

Arthur had gathered some of his best men for the task and had decided to bring quite a few of them, too. The courtyard's pavement was nearly invisible beneath all the red cloaks as the men readied, while Guinevere stood on the steps a little uncertainly, waiting to see them all off.

Her husband noticed the crease in her brow all the worry had brought on, sighing as he approached Leon, who he had decided to leave behind. The Knight was, admittedly, his best man and also his most trusted one; it was precisely why he had decided to leave him in charge of guarding Guinevere whilst he was away.

"Remember what I have told you," Arthur said, "I hope no trouble will arise during my absence, but if such a thing should happen, the Queen's safety is paramount. Her protection is your priority, no matter the cost."

Leon nodded gravely. "I will not let any harm come to her, sire," he vowed, "You have my solemn word."

Arthur smiled as he clasped the other man's shoulder, certain he had chosen the right man to ensure Guinevere's safety. More than just a loyal Knight, Leon was also one Guinevere's oldest friends; Arthur was certain he would see to Guinevere's protection even without an explicit instruction to do so.

The Knights mounted their horses, prompting Arthur to bid farewell to Guinevere one last time before the journey.

"We will return," he promised her, "All of us."

There was always a certain fear which entered her heart when he went away on some dangerous mission – often times needlessly putting himself in peril – but she knew it was a part of him she needed to accept.

"And I shall do my best not to let the kingdom fall whilst you're away," she promised in return, trying to seep some humour into the words.

He smiled as he kissed her cheek. "You will probably make the kingdom stronger by the time I return."

"I doubt it," she commented derisively before taking his face in her hands and delivering a kiss of her own on his forehead. "Well, go on then," she said as she stepped back, "Be a hero."

He gave her one final grin before he mounted his own horse and began leading the men away from the courtyard. Merlin gave her a nod of reassurance before he too disappeared out of sight and it wasn't long before every last man was gone.

She watched them all go with a heavy heart, smiling slightly when Leon came to her side. Though neither the King nor the Knight would ever admit to it, she knew the only reason her husband had ordered Leon to stay behind was to keep her from harm.

"This is nice, isn't it?" he remarked as he looked around, "The two of us, running around Camelot. Like in the old days."

She smiled fully this time, grateful for her friend's presence. "Yes, it should be fun," she agreed, taking his proffered arm as he led her back into the palace, "As soon as we have dealt with the council meetings…"

"And the collection of taxes…"

"And the people's complaints of the day…"

"And the cook's complaints about the stolen food, don't forget those…"

"And going over the supplies for the winter…"

"And overseeing the Knights' training…"

They exchanged looks.

"This was so much more fun when we were children."

* * *

A week passed since Arthur had set out for Lot's kingdom and, so far, the reports delivered back to Camelot were positive. The King lived and the loss of men was minimal, if not non-existent. The reassurance soothed Guinevere's worried mind but she would not be truly at ease until she saw them all return – with their heads still firmly attached to their necks – with her own eyes.

The night found her in the royal chambers, reading through the last report from Lot's northern borders. The messenger had delivered it to her personally earlier in the day before, rather awkwardly, handing her a single – and slightly mangled – purple flower, with compliments from the King.

The gesture was silly but at least Arthur hadn't managed to stupidly lose his head.

Her attention was no longer on the lengthy report filled with technicalities she could not bother with at the moment, her thoughts drifting to her husband, brother and friends; she truly hoped this expedition would end in an alliance with Lot, bringing them one step closer to the united kingdoms they longed for.

She imagined what it would be like sometimes, the five kingdoms united as one. Albion, the Great Dragon had called it. A time of peace and prosperity for all. She could not wait to see it.

The doors opened abruptly and without warning, making her jump in surprise as she brought a hand to her startled heart. She had a good mind to reprimand Leon for entering in such a manner but her words of admonishment died on her lips as she spotted the short figure trotting behind the Knight.

She was out of her chair in an instant. "Maerwynn!" she exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The girl brought her hands about her waist for a moment and Gwen hugged her back tightly, frowning when she noticed the deep concern on Leon's face. Pulling back, she rested her hands on the child's shoulders gently. "What's happened?" she queried again, fearing the girl's camp had been attacked again.

She and her caretaker had left Camelot shortly after the feast held in their honour, having found another camp to settle in.

"I came to warn you," Maerwynn spoke hastily, "I rode to Camelot as fast as I could."

Gwen's eyebrows rose. "Alone?" she questioned disbelievingly. A child, riding alone through the woods at night; it was miracle she was still alive. "Maerwynn, what were you thinking?"

"There was no time to waste," the girl said somewhat tearfully, "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, Gwen, I'm sorry!"

"Shh, it's alright," Guinevere soothed, smoothing the child's hair softly, "Did you have another dream?" she queried next and, at Maerwynn's subsequent nod, added, "What did you see?"

The girl gulped. "An army," she whispered, "marching on Camelot, attacking the citadel."

"An army?" Gwen echoed in astonishment. "Whose army?"

"I – I don't know," Maerwynn stuttered, "I don't know the colours of all the kingdoms, only Camelot's, I…I don't know whose army it is."

"But you did see their colours? And their crest?" Gwen pressed gently, not wishing to upset the child any further. When the latter nodded rapidly, she gave her a smile of reassurance. "Describe them to me."

"Um…the colours were brown and yellow," Maerwynn recalled, "And their crest was…a wolf. Yes, a snarling wolf."

Guinevere's eyes widened as they went to Leon's. "Odin."

The Knight's expression turned sour at the revelation. "Perhaps it was to be expected," he said at length, "Odin has made several attempts on Arthur's life in the past. Maybe he now seeks to exact revenge by taking his kingdom."

Gwen nodded, having already come to the same conclusion. "And it would certainly fit Odin's ways to choose the time when Arthur is absent and the kingdom undermanned to strike," she remarked with distaste, "First he hides behind hired henchmen and now he attacks when he believes us at our weakest."

"He must mean to take us by surprise," Leon observed further, "And give us no time to prepare our defences."

Guinevere conceded to that as well before turning her attention back to Maerwynn. "What else can you tell us?" she inquired, "Anything can be of use."

The girl paused to think, gathering all her memories of the prophetic dream. "There were a lot of men, a few hundred, I think…they were approaching from the north and they were near, they'd already crossed the border. They are only hours away now."

"They must have only travelled by night and hid during the day," Leon surmised, "The patrols and scouts would have spotted them otherwise."

Again, Guinevere agreed. "That would certainly befit Odin," she said darkly, "but we have not a second to waste. Gather the Knights at the Round Table," she instructed Leon, "rouse those who have already gone to bed. Send for the council members – Gaius in particular – as well. We will convene in fifteen minutes."

"Milady," Leon accepted the orders readily, nodding before making his way out of the chambers.

Once he had made his exit, Maerwynn spoke again. "I wish I had seen more," she apologised, "but I only saw them approaching, I didn't - "

"Hush," Gwen silenced her gently, hugging her closer once more as she ran her hand over the child's head tenderly. "You were very brave," she praised, "to come and warn us. I owe you a debt of gratitude greater than you can imagine."

"I don't want to see you harmed," Maerwynn said quietly, tightening her hold around Gwen's waist.

"Nor I you," Guinevere told her affectionately, "Which is why you will stay here," she ordered, "Lock yourself inside and, should we fail to protect the city, you will run. Do you understand?"

"But - "

"I cannot allow you to risk your life any more than you already have. Stay here but, should you see our defeat is imminent, run. Do not stay behind for me."

Reluctantly, the girl nodded.

Guinevere smiled at her before taking a deep breath. "Now that we have that sorted," she began as she moved towards her wardrobe, overturning piles of – rather unnecessary – clothing in search of her trousers, shirt and vest, "there is a council I must prepare for."

She was fully dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes, sending one last smile in Maerwynn's direction before disappearing into the corridor.

It was just her luck, she supposed as she crossed the palace in hasty strides. Queen for no more than a couple of weeks and she already faced the threat of an imminent invasion while having to ready her people for battle.

_Brilliant_.

* * *

**A/N: And next stop: Gwen gets her groove on with a sword. **


	23. The Wrath of a Queen

**A/N: So...it would seem I got a bit carried away with this chapter...and it kind of ended up being about 8.000 words long...not quite sure how that happened, mind you. It just...well, happened. Heh. **

**Anyway, I hope it's not, you know, boring as all hell. **

**Also, I apologise for not having answered the reviews for chapter 22. My classes have started again which means I have been returned to the deepest circle of hell. Oh, the joy.**

* * *

"We have some hours before Odin's forces reach our walls," Guinevere spoke as she stood before the assembled Knights and councilmen at the Round Table, "It gives us just enough time to ensure all our citizens are kept out of harm's way."

She turned to Leon. "Who are your least experienced fighters?" she queried, making the Knight purse his lips in thought for a moment.

"Yvain, Galehaut, Breunor and Caradoc," he finally said, having cited the Knights to have most recently joined their ranks; while excellent on the training field, the men had no true experience in combat.

Guinevere's eyes went to the men in question, who stood beside their seated brothers in arms. "Please, do not think I mean to undermine your loyalty or skill," she addressed them kindly, "but our forces are diminished because of Arthur's expedition and we must use our most experienced men if we are to successfully repel this attack. I do, however, have an important task for you."

The four men straightened, ready to receive their orders. "As I said, the citizens of Camelot must be kept out of harm's way," she continued, "It will therefore be your task to gather and lead them away from battle. Odin approaches from the north; you must lead the people south, to the Darkling Woods, for shelter. You are to guard them with your lives."

The Knights complied with deep bows, taking their instructions to heart. Guinevere sent them on their way then, telling them to house those who could not travel deep within the citadel for shelter, and turned her attention back to the others as the doors closed.

"We must devise a strategy to ensure our victory," she proceeded with her speech, "The citadel has always been said to be impregnable, but the restricted number of men could prove our defences fallible…"

"Milady, you needn't trouble yourself with such things," Leon spoke up, causing Guinevere to raise her eyebrows at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I will ensure our defences withstand Odin's forces," he went on, apparently oblivious to her discontentment, "We have many strategies in place for occurrences such as this one; I will select the most suitable one and lead the men. You truly needn't trouble yourself with the details."

"And how exactly do you expect me to find my way through the battle if I have no idea what strategy we are implementing?" she questioned with a certain edge to her voice, making Leon's jaw drop.

"Your way through _where_?" he parroted in astonishment, losing all sense of decorum.

Guinevere cast a look around the table, finding similar expressions of surprise and disbelief on every man's face. "Perhaps you have misunderstood my intentions," she said, "but I do plan on fighting alongside each and every one of you."

"Gwen, you cannot," Leon let out impulsively, rising to his feet and grasping his friend's elbow gently, "I will win this battle for you," he promised, his voice lowering, "Our men will be victorious and we will bring Odin to you, give you his head if you so desire, but you cannot put yourself in danger."

"You expect me to cower in the palace while you risk – or even lose – your lives?" she questioned sternly, growing irritated.

"There is no cowardice in prudency," he countered, only fuelling her irritation.

"I am not completely clueless as to how a sword is wielded, Leon," she reminded him, "Nor will I sit idly as a battle rages around me," she added, calmly extracting her arm from his grasp.

"I know how brave you are," he assured, "but I have given my word to the King; I cannot allow this."

Her expression went from merely annoyed to truly angry. "Do you believe you can order me about, Sir Knight?" she queried coldly, freezing Leon in the spot with her warning tone.

"Of course not, milady," he quickly backtracked, "I merely meant - "

He gave up mid-explanation with a sigh; it would do him no good to dance around the subject. "It's too dangerous," he said, "I have sworn to protect you, Gwen," he added, his voice heartfelt, "and even before that, I was your friend; I would never see you hurt. I beg you not to be reckless."

His words made her soften, though her resolve did not waver. "I know you mean well, but I have made my decision."

"You ask me to break my word."

"I ask you to _respect me_," she corrected, challenging him to defy her. If she was a Queen, then she would act as one.

He didn't appear to have been swayed by her words but fell back into his chair without a word, his expression still conveying disapproval.

Guinevere breathed in deeply before tearing her eyes away from his, observing the other men. Her hands balled into fists at her side when she saw they all reflected Leon's sentiment. Gaius seemed to be the exception, his face carefully impassive but supportive.

"We must defend our home," she began again after some moments of silence, struggling to regain her footing; Leon had dealt quite the blow to her previous confidence with his words, "but we must do so with honour."

She tried to ignore all the raised eyebrows and looks of disbelief as she gathered the strength to speak further. All the Knights, they thought her foolish and inadequate. While she knew they accepted her as their Queen and would acquiesce to anything she might say where matters of state were concerned, she was also aware they believed she had no business meddling in matters of warfare.

She held her chin a little bit higher. "You will not aim to kill," she spoke next, addressing all the gathered soldiers and effectively making their jaws drop.

"But, milady," Leon seemed to have more objections and her simmering ire grew as she heard a clear hint of condescension in his voice, "you must understand that is the _way _of armed combat. I know that you are a peaceful soul, but - "

She raised her hand to halt his speech; she had heard enough. "I understand the ways of men very well, Sir Leon," she told him, shifting her gaze to the others as she flattened her palms against the table, "But I fear there is a thing _you_ – _all of you_ – are failing to understand. These men Odin is leading are Knights, just like you. They live by a code of honour and they have pledged allegiance to their ruler; they are sworn to protect their kingdom and their sovereign. The only thing that sets them apart from _you_ is that they serve another King, whose quarrel is with Arthur _alone_. Under different circumstances, you could have been friends or even allies, as you are with the Knights of, for example, Nemeth or Caerleon. So tell me, Sir Knights, how can your honour allow you to take the lives of those who are – for all intents and purposes – your equals?"

She witnessed the men – boisterous, proud, armoured men – bow their heads down in shame at her admonishment, much like children who had just been scolded by their mother. She was rather pleased by this outcome.

"I do not seek the death of those who have not wronged me, so you _will not_ aim to kill," she repeated, her tone gaining in strength, "It will be your last resort; if there is no other way to save your own lives, only then will you take those of your opponents. If your own neck is not gravelly endangered, you will either render the other fighters unconscious or subdue them in other ways but you _will not_ kill them. Is that understood?"

A chorus of mumbled 'yes, Your Highness' and 'of course, milady' ensued, making Guinevere take a deep breath. She really hoped her noble intentions would not bring about Camelot's downfall. But then again, it was always best to go down in honour; be it in victory or defeat, Camelot would uphold honour.

"Besides, it is Odin I want, not his men," the Queen went on, "Facing his fighters head on would lead to too many casualties on both sides. I propose we set a trap to lure Odin himself within the city walls."

"That might prove difficult," Gaius spoke up, "Odin is not like Arthur – or you, for that matter. He will not fight alongside his men. He will observe from a distance, waiting for confirmation of victory before marching through the gates and proclaiming himself conqueror."

Guinevere pondered the physician's words, knowing he made a very valid point. It was not in the nature of Kings – especially aging ones – to venture into the heart of their battles.

"Then there is only one course we can take," she declared after some deliberation, "We must make him believe he has won the battle before it has begun."

"How do we do that?" Leon queried with confusion, and Guinevere nearly shook her head in pity. Men; they were so limited in their methods.

She turned to Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth. "I don't believe anyone at this table knows the Kings and their ways better than the two of you; tell me, would you consider Odin to be a wise or intelligent man?"

While Gaius scoffed, Geoffrey went as far as chuckling mockingly. "He is a fool."

"He is too arrogant to be wise," Gaius elaborated, "Too certain of his own judgement to ever doubt himself."

"So, it should not be too difficult to trick him?" Guinevere concluded, already beginning to formulate a plan.

"I don't believe so."

She nodded in satisfaction. "In that case, gentlemen, I have an idea."

* * *

The Queen stood on the palace's steps, sword at her side and overseeing the activity in the courtyard. The people had been led to the woods safely and those too old or too ill to make the journey were placed within the siege tunnels, along with food and water; the previously blocked tunnels had been cleared at her command, not completely, but enough to allow the citizens passage outside the walls should the city fall.

Her plan, to which the men – some more reluctantly than others - had agreed, was quite an unusual one; they would fool Odin into believing there was not a soul in Camelot. The lower town was already vacated, the lights in every house extinguished. The same went for the castle itself, where all visible flames would soon be put out. She and her Knights would hide in the shadows as the enemy approached, lie in waiting until Odin himself walked through the gates; they would then raise the drawbridge, trapping him inside.

The men had already discarded their red cloaks, as it was a necessity for them to blend with the shadows.

Leon approached her on the steps, standing beside her as she surveyed the final preparations.

"I owe you an apology," he said, "for speaking out of turn. It is not my place to question you."

She smiled faintly. "As my friend, Leon, I can think of no one _better_ placed to question me."

"Perhaps," he conceded with a small shrug, "but I should not have spoken to you the way I did. I _am_ worried, though," he added more quietly, "about your safety. Letting you do this goes against all my instincts."

"And Arthur's orders," Gwen supplied, making Leon sigh.

"That too," he agreed, "But I cannot defy my Queen, especially not one of such honour and bravery."

"You flatter me, Leon."

"I speak the truth. Your decision to spare Odin's men is, I daresay, _too_ noble," he told her sincerely, his tone turning more serious as he added, "but you must know that he will show you no such courtesy."

"I do know. But does that mean I should stoop to his level?" she challenged, causing the Knight to chuckle faintly.

Moments later, Odin's army was spotted in the distance from the high towers and the message related below, prompting Leon to grow solemn.

"Whatever may happen, milady," he spoke gravely, "Know that there is no one myself or my brothers would rather call our Queen. It is our honour to serve you and, should this night prove to be our last, it will be our honour to die for you."

Guinevere could not find the words to express her gratitude, instead choosing to extend her arm for her most loyal of Knights to clasp, like he would a fellow warrior's.

"For the love of Camelot."

* * *

The stillness was unnerving.

Guinevere could never remember the city being so utterly, completely still. Not a single torch flickering in the wind or footsteps to be heard in the dark. Her own breathing filled her ears; she tried to control it, keep it levelled. She had been a participant in battles before; in Ealdor and in Camelot itself, she had picked up a sword, but it had never been quite like this.

She commanded the army now. It was her word all the men followed. It was, quite simply, terrifying.

If they failed, it would be her fault. It was her plan - her outrageous, complicated plan - devised in the name of honour and noble values, and, if Camelot fell, the blame would be on her. It terrified her.

The night soon grew heavy with oncoming noise, as hundreds of soldiers and horses shook the ground. Guinevere gripped her blade tighter as she waited; they had reached the lower town. It would be any minute now that they realised something was wrong and ventured towards the palace; it only remained to be seen if they would take the bait or not.

She prayed they would. The consequences would be disastrous otherwise.

Shouts of confusion cut through the air, as Odin's forces were clearly baffled by their surroundings. Their attack was meant to come without warning and they had expected to find the people in their homes, guards to intercept them, warning bells to deafen them; instead, they were met with nothing but silence.

"Check the palace!"

The order rang out, making Guinevere's heart pick up speed. They were crossing the drawbridge now, entering the courtyard. The darkness of alcoves and high pillars kept the fighters of Camelot out of sight and their stealth allowed them to remain unnoticed by the unfamiliar men, whose armour clattered loudly in the absolute stillness.

She heard their feet thud loudly atop the stone steps and floors, picked up on the faint echo of their voices as they found the immediate inside of the castle as vacant as the rest of the city.

_Please fall for it, please fall for it_, she silently begged, her palms beginning to sweat. When Arthur returned, by God, she would clobber him around the head for not having resolved his issues with Odin sooner. Of course, she would have to survive this night first.

"There is no one here," one of the men informed as he emerged out of the palace, where a good number of his brothers in arms already filled the square, "Tell the King."

A young Knight went to relay the findings – or rather, lack thereof – to his sovereign, who still remained on the other side of the tall walls.

Guinevere strained to hear, trying to distinguish Odin's voice over the quiet murmur of his soldiers. Their conversations were hushed and muffled, but Gwen still caught some bits.

"Stop shaking, you coward," she heard an older Knight scold an obviously frightened lad much younger than himself, "My five-year-old boy's got more guts than you."

"Does it not scare you?" the young man questioned tremulously, "The dark and the quiet?"

Guinevere closed her eyes, willing herself not to feel too strongly for the fearful fighter. Still, he sounded so scared and, if the timbre of his voice was anything to go by, he was nothing more than a boy. It was probably his first battle.

Her thoughts went to Delbert and, oddly enough, to Odin's son. He was, after all, the reason behind this entire mess. She remembered Arthur's retelling of the fateful duel, of the boy's fear in the face of fighting an opponent much greater than himself, all to make his father proud. He had died frightened, to prove himself to a man Guinevere believed to be undeserving of such devotion.

She shook her head as tears gathered behind her eyelids; it would do her no good to get overly sentimental.

"I advise you to be cautious, milord," another voice reached her ears, along with sounds of numerous pairs of clanging hooves upon the pavement, "It could be a trick."

She held her breath; the man was speaking to Odin himself, she was certain of it. The blood rushing through her ears almost drowned out the King's reply.

"Nonsense. They fled at the sight of us."

She nearly exhaled loudly in relief; he had fallen for it.

"A serving girl and a handful of men, what else could they do?" Odin went on mockingly, making Guinevere purse her lips.

It was always their mistake, she concluded. To underestimate her.

Another remark could be heard from Odin as his horse's stride came to a halt; he was within the walls.

Guinevere took a deep breath. It was time.

What was it that Arthur always said?

Oh, right.

"On me!"

Her command ripped through the night, bewildering the men and spooking the horses, as she and her Knights moved out of the shadows, filling the air with cries.

The archers, cloaked in black at the highest vantage points, rained arrows beyond the walls, aiming for the soldiers' feet rather than their hearts and heads. Her Knights charged at the still confused would-be invaders, their swords clashing loudly against those of their opponents. Two of Guinevere's leanest men jumped out of the well in which they had previously hidden, suspended amongst the wet stones with ropes and hooks, and ran for the drawbridge, raising it before either Odin could escape or more of his men could flood the square.

Guinevere struggled to keep focus in the mayhem, her eyes constantly seeking Odin's form. He had drawn his sword, still seated atop his horse, and had begun wielding it about, though he still relied on the circle of men around him for protection. It was him she wanted; she needed to find a way to get him unhorsed.

She ran across the cobble, only to be intercepted by an oncoming blade. She raised her own, grunting as the force of impact sent ripples through her arm. In Nemeth, Bren had taught her how to fight, but what he had said to her then remained true still; train as she may, her strength could never equal a man's. It was why she wore no armour this evening; she was not physically strong enough to bear the weight of chainmail and still move with ease.

The warrior she faced now made to swing again but stopped as he realised he was fighting a woman. He stilled, his sword raised above his head, his eyes wide and uncertain; he could not strike down a woman. A woman who, he realised as he glanced at the ring placed atop her glove, was the Queen.

They stared at each other for a moment as the man was obviously torn between the values he believed in and the orders he had been given. Guinevere took advantage of his indecision, summoning her strength before acting.

"I do apologise for this," she said before moving forward and ramming her knee between the man's legs with force. He howled in pain as he slouched to the ground, exposing the back of his head. Gwen clashed the hilt of her sword against his skull, rendering him unconscious in a second.

She bent to pick the sword from his limp hand, stomping on his fingers strongly for good measure; she didn't want him dead, but she didn't want him to be able to return to the fight either.

Straightening, she glanced around once more, a blade in each hand. Shouts and growls made the air heavy with gloom as the scent of blood filled her nostrils; no matter her good intentions and her men's skill, blood was still spilled. Her heart ached for all the pain that had already been inflicted this evening, and the pain that was yet to come. All because two powerful men had quarrelled.

She willed her feet into movement, dodging the tall figures around her and slipping past them, straining to spot Odin. She moved around the entire courtyard and open passageways, her chest heaving with exertion. At a turn, she was blindsided by a body landing past her, as one of her Knights was disarmed and sent flying across the slick stone on his back.

Sir Kay grunted as he hit the ground forcefully, his weapon sliding away from his grasp and out of sight. His attacker, a man twice his size, moved forward to deliver the final blow and Guinevere pounced on instinct; one of the swords she held struck forward and Odin's Knight fell right onto it.

He howled in agony as the blade sliced his flesh, running through him from front to back. Blood poured out of the wound and onto Gwen's hand, twisting her gut. The leather of her gloves protected her skin but she still felt the warmth of the liquid as its overwhelming stench made her sick. Her teeth ground together as her fingers shook around the blade's handle and the water filling her eyes burned mercilessly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, though the man she had just killed could probably hear her no longer. His body went slack with one final, feeble grunt and she pulled her sword out, her face twisting in pain. Her breath stuttered as she stood over the lifeless heap of bones and draining blood at her feet. She had not wanted this. Never this.

"Milady," she heard Kay address her some moments later, though she could not say for certain how long she had stood there in silence. "Milady, thank you," Kay spoke again as he rose to his feet, prompting Guinevere to swallow back the tears which threatened to fall. She would be laughed at throughout the kingdoms; the Queen who cried for her enemies.

"No gratitude is necessary, Sir Kay," she said, glad to find her voice was steady and her eyes dry as she faced the Knight. "Here," she told him as she presented him with her second sword, "take this."

He accepted the new weapon eagerly, as his former one was nowhere to be seen in the darkness, bowing to her before taking off into the night once more.

She went in the opposite direction, gripping her sword strongly as she steeled herself for what might yet come; the battle was far from over.

Moving through the hordes of fighting men, she delivered a few incapacitating blows here and there, aiding her Knights. Her small stature allowed her liberties of movement her men could not dream of and she took advantage, slipping through cracks and sneaking up on opponents, disabling them as she went.

A blow from the side took her by surprise, causing her to lose her balance and trip over a body on the ground, joining it on the dirtied pavement a moment later. She gasped in pain as she rolled to her back, her breath hitching as she caught sight of sharp steel hovering just above her. Her eyes went to its holder, whose own widened as he got a proper look at her.

"Are you mad, girl?" he hissed and she immediately recognised his voice as that of the man who had accused the young, scared boy in the courtyard of cowardice; the man who had a five-year-old son waiting for him at home.

Her chest rose and fell in unsteady, shallow pulls of air, while the man still held his sword above her, though he seemed to have no intention of gutting her on the spot.

Guinevere would never know what truly went through his mind for he soon growled, his back hunching as a sword was thrust through him from behind. The force of the blow sent blood splaying everywhere, and Gwen closed her eyes tightly as she felt some of it land on her as well. She heard a dull thud and then another; when she opened her eyes again, she found the man's own ones staring back at her blankly and sightlessly, as he lay dead by her side.

Just like that, a young boy was fatherless and, not for the first time that night, her thoughts went to Bren, Haelan and the Knights of Caerleon who had torn the two apart. It was because of them that she had chosen to spare Odin's men, to let as many as possible live.

She was a fool for thinking they could all get away unscathed. A battle was a battle and bloodshed was the way of men.

"Milady, are you harmed?"

Her eyes turned upwards once more, focusing on the clearly worried Leon standing above her. Whether Odin's Knight had meant to kill her or not was irrelevant, for Leon had seen him as a threat to his Queen and, true to his oath of protection, eliminated it.

"I'm fine, Leon," she managed to say as he helped her to her feet.

"Gwen, I beg you to reconsider - "

"No."

"This was too close a call for - "

"No."

"You will be safer in the palace - "

"No, Leon," she interjected forcefully, stunning him into silence. "Do not ask me again."

He nodded in obedience, picking her sword from the ground and handing it to her without a word.

She took the proffered blade hastily before moving away, furiously wiping at the tears that had begun to stain her cheeks.

Bloody Kings.

Odin, she needed to find him already. She flittered through the clashing ranks once more, hoping to spot Odin's horse amidst the noise and carnage. She didn't know how long she looked for, weaving her way through the mess, but her eyes finally caught a faint glimpse of Odin's white – and therefore, rather conspicuous – horse, prompting her to run towards him as fast as her tired legs would carry her.

To her aggravation, one of her foe's men intercepted her. Unlike others before him, he seemed to have no qualms about striking her down. His sword came down at her and she quickly deflected the blow, engaging in a fight.

"What do you think you're doing, foolish girl?" he rasped and she recognised his voice too, he had been the one to warn Odin about a possible trick; Guinevere surmised he had to be the most loyal of King Odin's men. "Run while you can!"

"Perhaps it is you who should run," she proposed, her breathing growing laboured. She directed her blade to his side, but he countered the blow easily, dancing out of reach.

"Nay," he refused, "I cannot betray my King."

"Nor I mine," she countered with fervour, arching backwards as he swung his sword in a wide circle at level with her head. She ducked to the side when he brought the blade downwards, bolting to the left.

_Wide leg stance, wide leg stance_, she kept telling herself, _come on, come on_.

She kept leaning to the left, hoping the old strategy she had once implemented on Arthur and practiced endlessly with Bren would work to her advantage this time too. Her feet drew wide circles as the man followed her movements, and she did her best to feign a suitable amount of clumsiness.

Every attempted strike was blocked, much to the man's irritation. Guinevere knew she had to distract him, keep him from realising her movements were too calculated for someone presumably inept in swordfight.

"I heard you before," she told him, "when you warned Odin. You seem a wise man; you should have advised your King better."

He grumbled in anger, bringing his blade down upon hers, the metal screeching eerily.

"You brought hundreds of men here, yet you were outwitted by a serving girl," she taunted, "It must kill you, to be a man of wisdom at the service of a complete fool!"

The man growled now, charging at her wildly, all thought of fighting tactics forgotten. She saw her chance and moved to the right sharply, causing him to make the mistake she had hoped he would. His legs stood wide and she dropped to the ground, sliding across the cobblestone; she emerged on the other side, beginning to spin around on her back in order to kick him in the shins.

He yelled as her feet hit the back of his legs, making him drop to his knees. Guinevere scrambled to stand, eager to deliver a final blow to his head and incapacitate him.

Unfortunately, she too seemed to have underestimated her opponent.

She had barely stood up when the upper part of his body swung about with a speed she had not thought him capable of, the blade he held glowing in the feeble moonlight.

The odd sensation of her skin splitting came before the pain.

Her hand clutched at her stomach as all air drained from her chest; the redness of the blood could not be seen on the black leather of her glove and vest, or the black fabric of her belt, but she felt its thickness against her covered fingers and its warmth against her belly.

Rough hands pushed her back onto the ground and her sword was taken from her, before being thrown into the distance. The man stood above her, weapon at the ready.

"You left me no choice, girl," he grunted, with regret it seemed, raising the blade to deliver the final strike.

Never one for surrender, Guinevere threw her legs out, pain searing through her as the harsh movement pulled at the edges of her wound, and hit him in the stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs and leaving him momentarily defenceless. She kicked again, making his knees buckle. Guttural sounds of anger left her throat as she crawled, raising herself just enough to be at eye level with him. Her arm rose in the air and her elbow came down upon his face, his nose cracking on impact.

She stripped him of his sword, holding it tightly in both her hands as she forced herself to her feet once more.

Her shout of fury echoed in the night as she brought the blade down.

The man fell, his skull crushed as blood oozed from the back of his head.

Guinevere's hands shook as she held the sword aloft, little red droplets sliding from its tip and onto the stained stone. Her wound pulsed painfully with each trembling breath; the injury was not too severe as far as she could tell, the blade having only slashed the surface of her stomach. Still, she needed to slow the bleeding down. She discarded the sword for a moment, moving to tighten her belt.

It had been a good choice to wear black, she supposed. Her men would certainly panic should they see blood staining her clothing. She gritted her teeth as she pulled at the edges of the belt, panting and growling lowly as her eyes watered.

She allowed herself a moment of respite as her fallen opponent's sword found its way into her grip once more.

If she did not end this soon, everything would be lost. The Knights guarded the walls bravely, but being as outnumbered as they were and complying with her wishes of sparing Odin's men, they would not last infinitely.

She took a few tentative steps forward, grunting at the ache the movement caused. She needed something, anything, to make this stop. A brilliant idea, just one, was all she needed.

Tears of anger joined those of pain as no plan came to her. She had to get her hands on Odin, only then would the battle cease. He was coward of the worst sort, but cowards were shrewd, and he had protected himself well. Men fell around him but kept him out of harm's way, allowing him to remain seated atop his horse.

She smashed the sword she held against the ground in frustration. One idea, just one.

If only her wound didn't feel like fire licking at –

Wait, fire…

Fire. That was it, fire!

Her heart thumped with renewed fervour and she found that the surge of newfound purpose numbed the pain somewhat. She took off in the direction of the palace, heading for the kitchens. She found Kay on her way there and grabbed him by the arm.

"With me, now!" she commanded and he obeyed without a word, rushing alongside her through the empty corridors. Her eyes had taken some time to get accustomed to the darkness, but her vision was still aided by the gleaming moonlight.

"Milady?" Kay queried, confused to find himself in the kitchens. She couldn't possibly mean to have a snack now, could she?

She overturned cloth and trays, exclaiming in victory when she uncovered the large barrel filled with cooking oil. "Can you carry this?" she inquired, pointing to the heavy load.

"Of course," he assured as he lifted the barrel, grunting faintly but unyielding under the burden.

She grinned at him, grabbing a tinderbox off one of the shelves before motioning for Kay to follow her back outside. He trotted behind as quickly as he could, somewhat struggling under the weight of the barrel.

They returned to the commotion just in time to see the drawbridge beginning to lower. Kay cursed under his breath and Guinevere shared the sentiment, though she didn't voice it aloud; Odin's men must have managed to find a way around her Knights. She noticed Odin from the corner of her eye as well, heading for the soon-to-be-opened escape route.

"Come," she instructed, running to get to the drawbridge before Odin could reach it. Kay followed her dutifully and set the barrel on the ground when she commanded it.

They stood to the side of the drawbridge and Guinevere kicked the barrel. The lid flew away and the oil spilled, filling the cracks in between the stones as it drew a ramified line.

She reached for the tinderbox, taking the flint and steel-striker in her hand. She had hoped to have time to use the char-cloth and light a torch, but it would seem none could be found for such luxuries; Odin was approaching.

She crouched to the ground, where the puddle of oil began, forcing her hands to be steady.

Kay looked positively bewildered, staring at her with wide eyes.

She grinned up at him a little madly. "Blacksmith's daughter."

The flint hit the steel and a spark was born in the air, igniting the oil as it touched the ground. The flames spread along the line, bathing the scene in yellowish glow as it barred the way to the drawbridge.

Men shouted in surprise as Odin's horse neighed in fright, struggling against its rider's restraints. It threw him off its back a moment later, bolting in the opposite direction, away from the flames.

Guinevere took her chance, drew a deep breath and marched up to the fallen King on the pavement with determination in her stride, sword drawn.

Odin seemed disoriented as he battled with his cloak, just managing to rise himself to his knees before the tip of Guinevere's blade was at his throat.

For a moment, everything went still. The drawbridge, lowered mid-way, was abandoned by those who meant to bring it down. Her Knights grew motionless though they remained cautious, while their opponents froze like statues.

"Stop!" the order finally rang out, as one of Odin's Knights gave the command to those still outside the walls, quieting their battle cries instantly.

"Lower your swords!" the second command made the kneeling King's men discard their arms, holding their hands up as the Knights of Camelot pointed their blades at them.

Throughout it all, Odin remained silent, fixing the woman before him with a disdainful glare.

She was dirtied, her braid partially undone, as both blood and sooth smeared her skin, but she stood tall and proud.

"I am Queen Guinevere of Camelot," she declared strongly, "and this is my kingdom you seek to take."

Odin's lip curled in anger. "Arthur killed my son."

"Yes," she saw no point in denying the fact, "but how many lives have been lost in your quest for vengeance?" she challenged, willing herself to remain composed; losing her temper would make her seem weak. "I wished to spare your men tonight, but many still died. And those men you had sent here to kill my husband took the life of his father, and before that, of innocent guards and a Knight who had only wished to fight in a tourney. How can your son's life be worth so many others?"

"My son was worth a thousand men," Odin too kept his voice low, but coloured with quiet rage, "and I will not rest until Arthur pays."

"Well, Arthur should be returning in a few days' time. By all means, do stay and present him with your gauntlet upon his return," she proposed, "Settle that matter once and for all like men of honour."

Odin's eyes went to the ground for a moment and Guinevere received no answer, making her shake her head in distaste. Such a coward.

"But you're too afraid, aren't you?" she observed, "You know you stand no chance against him, so you send assassins and hide behind your men. Arthur told me of your son, you know," she added, causing Odin to look up at her, "He was so scared, so young. He knew he was facing almost certain death and yet he did not withdraw…because he wished to make you proud of him."

The King's eyes were beginning to fill with tears as were her own, but she refused to let them fall.

"It saddens me more than I can say," she went on, "that a boy died with fear in his heart to prove his courage to a man who possesses none."

Odin seemed enraged by her words, moving to stand in his fury; he fell back down immediately as she pressed her sword against his heart in warning.

"Be careful, milord," she cautioned, "I've already killed men tonight and my patience is growing rather thin."

She made a point of angling her blade differently, ensuring he noticed its handle. It was no plain sword, but one crafted specifically for a Captain of the Guards; Arthur had once presented a similar one to Leon. Guinevere was certain it was Odin himself who had presented the blade she held now to the man whose neck she had nearly severed.

Odin seemed to have understood her meaning quite well and swallowed almost imperceptibly before fixing her with a stare of defiance.

"Don't be foolish," he warned, "Killing me would be a big mistake."

"I know," she said, "This world is too good for the likes of you but I seek peace…and if I kill you, I will start a war that will never end; there will never be peace."

She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she proceeded. "So, I will offer you a truce," she told him, "We will end all this bloodshed and our kingdoms will be allies. And, upon my King's return, we shall sign the treaty."

Guinevere observed him steadily, knowing he would accept; only an absolute idiot – or a man of mad pride – would refuse and she was certain Odin was neither. Still, he was also not a man of honour. They could sign all the treaties they liked, it would not ensure Odin abided by them. He could send assassins after Arthur again and Guinevere had to make sure the thought never crossed his mind again.

He was a coward. And fear was always the way to deal with cowards.

"But if you ever break our terms or seek to kill Arthur again," she spoke once more, her voice quiet and lethal, "I _will_ retaliate. I will come at your doorstep and I will rain fire on your heads," she threatened, her tone so deadly, it made Odin swallow nervously, "I will tear your kingdom apart until there isn't as much as a spec of land for you to call your own."

She leaned in further, looking him straight in the eye. "And then," she hissed, "I will _personally_ have your head."

A small shudder passed through Odin and she knew he would not dare cross her. "Do we understand each other?"

He was silent for a time, obviously irate at the turn of events, but also knowing there was only one choice that allowed him to walk away with his head. "We do, milady," he finally caved, waiting for her to withdraw her sword before rising to his feet. "We're leaving," he then addressed one of his men and the latter went about relaying the order to the rest of the troops.

"Those who are too injured to travel may stay here," Guinevere offered, "to be treated by our physician. They will not be harmed."

Odin agreed to the offer, before instructing his men to gather their dead so they could be brought home for proper burials. Once that order was given, he turned back to Guinevere with a certain curiosity in his eyes.

"You said that you had wished to spare my men."

She nodded. "I told my Knights to only kill if they could not save themselves otherwise. Most of your men were merely knocked out…a few broken bones here and there. But some, I regret to say, were killed."

Odin seemed very confused. "Why would you give such an order?"

"I do not hold an entire army responsible for _your_ sins," she said simply, with an edge of accusation to her words, "Nor do I believe they all have hearts as dishonest as yours. Why should I seek the deaths of good men?"

He seemed stunned by her explanation. To hear both contempt and kindness woven so closely together was a novelty to him.

Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "My son would have liked you," he commented, growing sad as he recalled his lost boy.

Guinevere offered no comeback and Odin's horse was soon brought to him. "I cannot pretend to have forgiven Arthur," he said as he took over the reins, "but I can also not deny that you must be respected. If your King agrees, then we shall be allies."

"He will agree," she assured as Odin mounted his horse.

"Very well then. Farewell, Queen Guinevere."

"Farewell, Odin."

No sound was to be heard over those of the retreating army as they left Camelot, while Guinevere and her men stood in the courtyard and watched them leave.

It was only when they were all well on their way that the Queen allowed herself to breathe in relief. She had done it. Camelot was safe.

"Long live the Queen!"

The shout startled her and she looked over her shoulder in surprise, to find Leon with his sword lifted above his head and towards the heavens as he praised her.

"Long live the Queen!"

The other men joined in as well, their blades pointing skyward as their voices filled the air in honour of the woman who had led them to victory.

"Long live the Queen!"

They truly respected her now, she realised. Not only as a wise councillor for matters of state and diplomacy but also as someone who would lead the army when necessary, someone with a heart as brave and noble as their King's.

It did feel rather nice.

She chuckled slightly as she looked around, smiling at her Knights. She allowed herself to finally relax, her tired body to finally unclench.

Immediately, she felt a dull but unpleasant pain cut across her stomach.

Oh. She'd forgotten about that.

She beckoned Leon to come closer and he did so with a grin and a bounce in his step. "Milady, you were magnificent!" he exclaimed as soon as he approached, "The way you - "

"Thank you, Leon," she cut in softly, "but I must ask you to take me to Gaius now."

"Oh, of course," he immediately agreed, "you must be exhausted, I should have realised - "

"I fear it's a bit more than just exhaustion," she said carefully, pulling discreetly at her belt to show him it had been slashed through and that it was now heavy with blood.

His eyes instantly widened in panic. "Oh God," he muttered, moving to scoop her up and carry her to the infirmary that very instant.

She laid a hand on his arm. "It is no life-threatening injury," she assured, "Please, let us not alarm the men needlessly. Just help me walk to the infirmary."

He still seemed positively frightened by the knowledge that harm had come to her but acquiesced without a word and allowed her to cling to his arm as they walked inside the palace. She instructed the men to light all the torches again as she walked past, heading for the infirmary they had placed on the lower levels in order to conceal it from Odin and his men.

She knew Gaius would confine her to immediate bed rest and give her a wide variety of draughts to ensure her sleep so she made sure to give all her orders to Leon beforehand.

Arthur was set to return in no more than three days, so she saw no point in sending a messenger to give him the news of the attack. They would inform him of the events once he returned. Besides, she dared not think of the unnecessary alarm he would cause if he were told of Odin's attempts to take over the kingdom before she had a chance to calm him down.

She also gave instructions about the reparations which needed to be done and how the men were to proceed where the return of the people to their homes was concerned.

As she had predicted, Gaius had tended to her wound – while grumbling about how careless she was – and given her a draught before sending her to sleep in the royal chambers. Maids flittered about the room, tending to some imaginary needs they thought her to have and although she had told them all to get some rest, they would not hear of it.

Sir Kay had positioned himself outside the doors too, determined to remain close by should Her Majesty require anything, refusing to leave his post throughout the night.

* * *

**A/N 2: For those of you who may have hoped to see Gwen go about gutting dudebros with gusto, I am sorry to disappoint. With the way I had her character evolve in this story, it would just seem very out of place. Also, that whole Bren/Haelan/Knights of Caerleon debacle from chapter 15 (I think it was 15) would be rendered completely pointless. But hey, she does gut two dudebros so...yay?**

**Also, I threw Kay into the mix (along with those four Knights who led the people to the woods and are all actual names found in the legends). I mean, why create OCs when you have the whole Round Table lot to sample from? Still, I won't be going into their stories much or anything, they're just being used as convenient plot devices. **

**Anyway, I hope you still enjoyed the chapter :)**


	24. The Claws of Fear

Arthur and the Knights were spotted a day sooner than expected, seeming to have taken less time than anticipated to return from Lot's kingdom.

Leon went to relay the news to the Queen, who was still ordered to stay in bed by Gaius. Maerwynn was by her side, sitting atop the absurdly large bed and conversing with Guinevere for hours on end.

"Milady," Leon spoke after she bade him entrance to the royal chambers, "the scouts inform the King will reach the city in less than an hour."

She smiled genuinely. "That is very good news, Leon. Make sure you greet him upon his arrival."

"Of course," he agreed, seeming to be just a tad more nervous than usual and Guinevere had a very good idea of the reasons behind it.

"Do not worry," she reassured kindly, "Everything will be fine."

Leon shook his head adamantly. "He will have my head on the spot."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly. Arthur won't hurt you."

"I gave him my word that I would not let any harm come to you and I have broken that promise…he will most certainly have my head. No, actually, he will ensure I die a gruesome death…"

"Leon…"

"I should just run myself through," the Knight mumbled, mostly to himself it seemed, "It will be quicker…and less painful."

Guinevere exchanged looks with Maerwynn, whose head was tilted to the side in contemplation.

"I do not understand your ways," the girl observed, prompting Guinevere to chuckle and Leon to sigh in apparent misery.

"I best be on my way," he said, squaring his shoulders, "If I do not see you again, milady, know that it has been my honour to serve you."

He was out the door with those ominous words of farewell, as Guinevere shook her head the entire time. Arthur was certain to be angry, she knew that, but Leon was really painting the situation to be infinitely more dramatic than it truly was. The kingdom was safe and an alliance with Odin was all but secured; Arthur would not start putting heads on spikes.

* * *

Arthur could not keep the smile off his face as he approached the city. They were riding in earlier than originally planned, mostly because he had commanded the men into a forced march to shorten the time to make the journey.

The situation in Lot's kingdom had been handled in a matter of only a few days, as the men causing trouble on the northern borders had all but fled at the mere sight of Camelot's banners; the little resistance they put up was quite short-lived. The attacks were traced to Ulmer, a warlord of great ambition but pitiful forces, and the King of Camelot was certain he would not dare be so bold as to attack again once the alliance between his and Lot's kingdoms was known. Said alliance had been accomplished as well, much to Arthur's satisfaction. Lot was not a kind or merciful man, but he did know how to pick his battles. A treaty had been drawn and signed in almost no time, the alliance made official.

In his good mood, Arthur had even made a slight detour, allowing for Merlin to visit his mother in Ealdor. The villagers had been stunned, to say the least, upon seeing so many Knights pass through, but had been as hospitable as could be.

After that gesture of kindness was done with, the King had ordered the men to ride at full speed on road to Camelot. So, he had wanted to see Guinevere again as soon as possible; there was nothing wrong with that. Really, it was a completely justifiable and honourable reason for forcing exhausted men into a gallop.

His brow furrowed as he neared the city's gates, though. The lower town was in partial disarray and the people, who he had expected to come out of their homes to greet the returning men, were already outside, seeming to be _repairing_ said homes.

His eyes went to the citadel, which bore clear marks of having been recently attacked. His heart filled with dread as he kicked his horse's shins with force, prompting the animal into a wild run through the town. Merlin shouted something behind him but he paid it no attention, rushing to reach the courtyard.

Leon stood at the steps as Arthur passed through the gates, jumping off his horse before it had even come to a full halt.

"Milord, it is great to see - "

"What happened here?" Arthur questioned, not giving Leon the chance to finish his greeting.

The Knight appeared to be rather jittery, clearing his throat before speaking again. "We were attacked, milord," he explained, "Two nights ago."

"Who did this?"

"Odin, sire. He came in the night, meaning to take us by surprise. We were able to repel the attack and - "

"Where's Guinevere?" Arthur cut in, fear running through him as he could not see her anywhere, "Why isn't she here to greet me?"

Leon opened his mouth to appease the King but found that his tongue was tied. Which was ridiculous, because the Queen was perfectly fine. Really, she was only recuperating from what could have been a deadly wound because he had failed to protect her. Truly, she was absolutely…fine.

Still, the words would not leave his mouth, effectively giving Arthur the wrong impression.

The King broke off into a run, rushing through the hallways like a madman, pushing servants and courtiers meaning to greet him out of his way. His heart thumped furiously as he neared the royal chambers. She could not be harmed. She could not be dea –

He shook his head. She could not be.

In the courtyard below, Leon hung his own head. So much for appeasing the King. Merlin and the other Knights soon appeared in the square as well, all with similar looks of worry and confusion. Those closest to the King and Queen stood before Leon in an instant.

"What's happened?" Gwaine queried, making Leon sigh heavily. He motioned for the lot to follow him as he set for the royal chambers, explaining the situation concisely en route.

The chambers' doors burst open, making Guinevere jump and Maerwynn shriek like a frightened little mouse. Gaius, who had come to check up on the Queen, nearly fell out of his chair.

Arthur appeared in sight, breathing raggedly and looking around wildly with fear in his eyes. Finally, he seemed to have spotted Guinevere and froze for a moment, almost surprised to see her awake and…well, alive.

She smiled hesitantly. "Welcome home?" she ventured uncertainly, rising herself a little higher against the headboard.

He was at her side the next moment, having sent his gloves flying to some distant corner of the room. His hands went over her face and hair, his eyes searching for any signs of visible injuries. He could find none, but she was still bedridden and looking rather pale.

"What happened to you?" he demanded, making her frown in confusion.

"Did Leon not explain?"

"He said Odin came in the night, I…"

She smiled in understanding. Poor Leon probably didn't even get a chance to explain.

Her hands caught one of his and she squeezed tightly in affection. "Yes," she confirmed, "he brought a few hundred men with him, meant to seize the throne in your absence," she elaborated further, growing rather solemn as she added, "It was another attempt to avenge his son's death."

Arthur grew still, his body tensing in simmering fury. "And why are _you_ in bed and not walking about the castle like always?" he asked, quite obviously forcing himself to breathe evenly.

She bit her lip. A delicate approach was needed here.

"I…was injured," she said at length. "It's nothing serious," she added quickly when his eyes widened, "It's just a…small, little cut. Across my belly. I'm mostly faint because of the blood loss, really…"

"It's true, sire," Gaius supplied, hoping to ease the King's increasingly troubled expression, "The wound will heal in no time, but the Queen must rest in order to regain her strength."

Arthur didn't speak for a moment, though the look on his face did not bode well. Leon, followed by Merlin, Elyan, Gwaine and Percival, appeared at the door then, stepping inside cautiously.

The King swallowed tightly as he proceeded with his questioning. "How did they get to you?" he inquired and, when he received no immediate answer, glared furiously at Leon over his shoulder, "How could you let them get past you?" he raised his voice, "You are meant to lead the men in my absence, how - "

"Arthur," Guinevere interrupted, prompting him to bring his gaze back to hers, "Leon didn't lead the men," she said, "I did."

He froze in the spot.

The silence grew long as he stared at her incredulously. Finally, he spoke through gritted teeth, "What do you mean you led the men?"

"I took part in the battle; I led the men" she said simply, hoping her composed demeanour would have a calming effect on him. It didn't quite work.

Once again, Arthur turned to face Leon, only this time, he was no longer in control of his temper. "You gave me your word!" he accused, beginning to advance towards the Knight. Guinevere caught his hand before he could move away.

"I gave him no choice, Arthur," she told him firmly, "Please, do not blame him."

He whirled on her now. "And you, are you mad?" he exclaimed, "Playing soldiers on the training ground doesn't make you a trained fighter, how could you even - "

"Do not yell at her!"

It was Maerwynn who gave the order, stunning the King – and everyone else – into silence with her audacity.

Guinevere took the opportunity to speak. "Please, leave us," she addressed the Knights, Merlin and Gaius, "You too, Maerwynn," she added, turning to the girl. With some reluctance, they all stepped outside and Guinevere gave a nod of reassurance to her brother when he lingered behind. Soon, only she and Arthur were left in the room.

He seemed to have calmed down some, but his lips were still pressed tightly together. "What were you thinking, Guinevere?" he asked at length, his tone having lowered.

"I couldn't just sit in the palace," she said, "You always say a King's role is to lead, so why should it be any different for a Queen?"

"Because a Queen is not meant to fight."

"So you say. I tend to disagree."

He huffed. "Fine. Then _my wife_ is not meant to march into battles and get herself killed!"

"I'm not dead, Arthur."

He threw his hands up, subsequently running them through his hair as he began to pace. "Who did this to you? Was it Odin? I'll have his head. No, it couldn't have been him, he would never venture into battle. I don't care, I'll have his head anyway."

The words poured out of him as he traced the length of the large room, making Guinevere sigh. Perhaps she should have sent that messenger after all.

"You will not have his head," she said firmly, "because we are to sign a peace treaty between his kingdom and ours."

He stopped in his tracks. "I will not make peace with that man."

"Yes, you will. This is what you have always wanted, peace between all the kingdoms. I know you have already made peace with Lot and this is your chance to do so with Odin too."

Arthur shook his head furiously. "He killed my father and now he nearly killed you too. I killed his son so I was willing to leave him be but this time, he's gone too far. I will make him pay."

"You would start a war without end," she tried to reason with him, "I had a sword to his throat, you know. I could have taken his head on the spot but I offered him truce instead; he was smart enough to take it."

"You offered him – wait, you had a sword to his throat?" he changed course from outrage to confusion, "How did you get that close to him? I know Odin, he would never risk his neck by going into the heart of a battle."

"And I was made aware of that," she said, "so I came up with a plan. A very complicated, insane plan, but it still worked out quite nicely."

His face clouded over again instantly. "You nearly lost your own head so I don't think 'quite nicely' is very fitting! And what plan?"

She took a deep breath, ever one for patience. "You will probably interrogate Leon later, so he shall give you all the details, but we devised a strategy to lure Odin within the city walls; then, we raised the drawbridge and trapped him inside, with most of his forces still on the other side of the walls."

He pursed his lips. "That's actually…rather brilliant," he had to reluctantly admit, his tense posture relaxing some.

"Thank you. Of course, there was some trouble with getting him unhorsed and such – which reminds me, the kitchens will need to be restocked in cooking oil – but Kay and I managed it in the end, and it was quite timely too, considering his men were about the lower the drawbridge again."

He blinked, his expression blank. Cooking oil? Kay? What nonsense was this?

"Also, don't be surprised if you see some of Odin's men wandering about," she added, "Those too injured to travel after battle were offered care here."

And just like that, his fleeting state of relaxation was gone.

"You let them stay here?"

"They would have bled out on the way back to their kingdom."

He looked at her as if she had lost every bit of sanity she ever had. "They are our enemies!"

"Not anymore, they aren't," she countered, "Well, they won't be as soon as we sign the treaty…"

"I've told you, I will not make peace with that man!"

"Stop being so stubborn!" she raised her voice as well, though only a fraction compared to his, "I know you hate him and, believe me, he hates you as well, but you cannot throw this opportunity away!"

"What I cannot do is let all his crimes go unpunished!" he countered heatedly, "And if I start a war, then so be it!"

"You would start a war over pride? Arthur, please."

"His men nearly killed you!" he shouted furiously, his cheeks growing red in his agitation.

"Well, it was my fault anyway, wasn't it?" she shouted back, "I'm the one who joined the battle, who came up with that insane plan, who gave the order to spare all his men, who - "

"Gave the order to do _what_?" he cut in disbelievingly, making her loud words trail off on a shaky breath.

"I gave the order to spare all his men," she repeated more quietly, "The Knights did not aim to kill in the fight. They were to incapacitate them, but they were not to kill them if they could help it."

He stared at her for quite some time, shaking his head slightly every now and then. There was disbelief etched on his face, anger and, what pained her most, disapproval.

"They were Knights, men of honour," she spoke again, trying to make him understand, "They weren't just savages who live by no rules or have no morals; just because their King is a coward and a fool doesn't mean they all are too. Many of them have good hearts, why should they die for their King's sins? And there was a young Knight, a boy, who…"

His stony expression did not waver and she quieted down, letting her sentence remain unfinished.

Finally, he found his voice. "What sort of _rubbish_ is that?"

"Rubbish?" she echoed meekly, feeling her eyes begin to burn.

"How could you even…to spare the…they were attacking you! What were you…well, we shall be the joke of all the kingdoms now, shan't we?" he raged, "Camelot, the kingdom where all its enemies are spared – and even given rest afterwards, like we're some sort of bloody inn!"

He growled lowly in frustration, shaking his head as he grumbled, "This is what happens when you let a woman be in charge of the army."

It would have probably hurt less if he had struck her. He thought her weak; weak and foolish.

He wasn't even looking at her anymore, having chosen to fixate his eyes on the floor as he ran a hand through his hair roughly.

"I expected you would be cross, you know," she spoke after a time, her tone low and resigned, "I even expected you to shout loudly enough for the whole of Camelot to hear…I never expected you would be this ungrateful, though."

As his eyes rose back to her, her own went to the bedspread. "But then," she added, her voice beginning to crack, "perhaps I should have expected that too."

All the fight drained from him at her defeated words. Her eyes were resting upon the coverlet and he knew it was because they were heavy with tears. He had upset her so terribly and he immediately regretted every single word that had left his mouth.

"Guinevere…"

"I'm tired," she said in a hollow whisper, "I wish to rest now."

"Guinevere," he tried again, taking a step closer to the bed, but she moved further away from the edge. He paused, fighting the stinging in his own eyes as he reached out with his hand; she recoiled.

"I said I was tired," she repeated sharply, still keeping her gaze averted.

He knew better than to press further so he turned on his heel and went for the door, blinking to clear his increasingly blurring vision. The corridor outside was empty, except for Maerwynn, who was seated atop one of the bench with a stillness Arthur had rarely seen in children.

He had no words for the girl, but she didn't seem wishful of hearing any either, as she slid off the bench and moved to the doorway. Her young eyes went to his, studying but calm. "You should be nicer to people, you know," she advised, "Maybe then so many wouldn't want to see you dead."

She didn't wait for him to counter her words – not that he had any of his own to counter them with – and moved inside the chambers instead, shutting the doors behind her and leaving him alone in the hallway.

He took a deep breath to compose himself, taking off down the corridor in search of Leon. As usual, Guinevere had been right; he did indeed intend to interrogate him about every last detail.

The tension returned to his shoulders as he could not find Leon, or any of his Knights for that matter. Not even Merlin. Following a hunch, he ventured to the section of the palace which housed the Knights, finding them all huddled in the largest set of chambers. Leon and Kay sat at the centre, surrounded by many of the men who had just returned from Lot's kingdom, including Merlin, listening to the formers' accounts of the infamous battle led by the Queen.

Arthur lingered outside the door, deciding not to interrupt just yet.

"She was spectacular!" he heard Leon praise Guinevere with fervour, "I've always known her to be peaceful and kind, of course, but my, did she ever put the fear of God in Odin."

"What did she do?" it was Merlin who asked, prompting Leon to take on an expression that would not be out of place on an utterly besotted fool.

"He was on his knees at her feet and she pointed her sword at his throat – a sword which she had taken off his Captain of the Guards, mind you. He trembled before her," he said, frowning slightly as he added, "I almost trembled myself."

There was a collective chuckle of approval from the men, followed by a round of loud clanging and toasting. Arthur nearly smiled; they had smuggled mead into their quarters again, the idiots.

"But the best part was _how _she got him unhorsed," Kay supplied as the cheering subsided, "I helped, of course - "

"Boasting little braggart," Gwaine mumbled but Kay paid him no attention.

" – with the load. Oh, it was a brilliant idea! The battle was still going when she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the kitchens – weird, eh? – and made me bring the barrel of oil outside. She kicked at it, spilled it across the cobble before the drawbridge, and then lit it on fire – on the first try!"

Elyan laughed proudly. "Blacksmith's daughter."

"That's exactly what she said!" Kay enthused, prompting the men into another round of loud cheering.

"To the Queen!" Gwaine proposed as he raised his cup.

"To the Queen!" the men agreed as one, chugging the mead down.

Arthur leaned against the wall wearily, running his hands over his face. The Knights spoke so highly of their Queen, admired her courage and intelligence. Yet, all _he_ had managed was to accuse her of being weak and incompetent.

Pushing himself off the wall, he made his presence known by clearing his throat. The men quieted down, their eyes going from their goblets to the King sheepishly. He nearly rolled his eyes; stupid idiots, the whole lot of them.

"As far as I am concerned, you are toasting with water," he said in a bout of lenience, "and since I am quite tired myself, there will be no training tomorrow; you can sleep in."

His words earned him a toast to his name as well, to which he merely shook his head.

"Leon," he addressed the Knight, making him grow instantly nervous, "come with me, please."

He nodded and stood, discarding his goblet. The other men seemed to understand their King did not share their good mood and grew silent, exchanging confused looks.

Arthur didn't speak until he and Leon were well out of earshot. "You must know that the plan you all agreed to was just short of pure insanity."

"Yes, sire," Leon accepted the admonishment solemnly, "and I know I have broken my word, which I will never forgive myself for doing. I have failed to protect the Queen and I am prepared to face the consequences."

The King nearly smiled. "Well, you really didn't have much of a choice, I would imagine. Guinevere can be quite stubborn."

"Indeed. I did try to dissuade her from her decision; she would not hear of it."

"That does sound like the Queen," Arthur agreed before sighing deeply, "Tell me of the battle itself."

"The full account is written, sire, and I shall present it to you whenever you wish."

"Just tell me about it, Leon."

"Very well, milord. We had Odin trapped within the walls; our main objective was to get him unhorsed and subdued. The - "

"How was Guinevere harmed?" the King interrupted impatiently; he didn't want to hear about the battle's logistics, only of Guinevere's movements.

The Knight paused for a moment, understanding Arthur's fear. "Odin's Captain of the Guards," he said, "Most of the men kept out of her way, as they would not strike down a woman, but he did fight her…and injure her. But she won; she killed him."

Arthur nodded tersely. "And then?"

"Then she got to Odin, by - "

"Lighting a barrel of oil on fire," Arthur supplied, a small involuntary smile pulling at his mouth; she had the strangest ideas sometimes, his Guinevere.

"Yes," Leon grinned fully, "It was quite the sight, sire. The entire square lit up and she stood before the flames, made Odin kneel at her feet. He feared her, milord," he added, his voice turning hushed with respect, "He feared every word she spoke, shook like a leaf in the wind beneath her."

Arthur remained silent, his brow creasing. He had never seen Guinevere strike fear into the hearts of men but then, she had only ever been gentle with _him_. She had been known to scold or reprimand him on occasion, of course, but it had never gone beyond that.

"But she was merciful as well," Leon went on, never seeming to run out of ways to compliment the Queen.

"_Too_ merciful," Arthur grumbled, "Giving orders not to kill any of Odin's men, honestly…"

"The Queen has too kind a heart," Leon said simply, pursing his lips before adding, "But I do believe she proved herself to be wiser than any of us by giving that order."

When Arthur's eyebrows rose above incredulous eyes, Leon rushed to explain himself. "It ensured minimal loss of life on both sides, sire," he said, "Our men are the most skilled in the kingdoms, we were more than capable of carrying out the order. And a path to peace is open now, without hundreds of deaths to stain it. She laid the blame on Odin alone, as is right."

With great reluctance, the King had to admit Leon made a fair point about the validity of Guinevere's actions. Still, she was a mad woman. Absolutely mad. Positively deranged.

"She thought you would be pleased, milord," Leon added somewhat hesitantly, as Arthur seemed to be reacting badly to the news, "We all did."

The uncertainty in his Knight's tone gave Arthur pause; he stopped in his tracks, and Leon halted his stride as well. The King's head craned to the side slightly as his eyes rested on the Knight's diffident ones. Both men remained silent, though Arthur did seem on the verge of speaking a few times, only to think the better of it before the words could leave his mouth.

Finally, he seemed to give up trying. "Return to the others, Leon," he spoke quietly, "You all deserve some time to yourselves."

The Knight smiled and, with a nod, was on his way back to the overcrowded quarters.

Left to his own devices, Arthur struggled to remain composed as he recalled the harsh way in which he had previously addressed Guinevere.

Mad woman, running into battles, crafting outrageous plans and orders of mercy and nobility; she just couldn't follow the rules, could she?

She had always had a peculiar approach to those, he supposed. There were times when she would insist on upholding them to the last word and then others when she could discard them completely in favour of following her heart. He did that too, of course, only he seemed to always choose the wrong rules to break. He surmised one of the only times he did make a good call in disregarding the norms was when he married her.

The whole of Camelot seemed to be singing her praises, complimenting her victory against an old foe. She had made Odin yield, had saved the kingdom and paved the way to peace; due to her efforts, Camelot was now only a signature away from being allied to all the surrounding kingdoms.

He felt the stinging return to his eyes. She had done it for him, and all his dreams of uniting the lands in peace. She shared those dreams, of course, but he knew she had done it in his name, and the name of all the values he stood for; she had thought he would approve. And, oddly enough, he did approve, once the anger and fear began loosening their grip on his heart. He too had wanted peace with Odin, but had never found the time to set it into motion; even if the other man's assassins had cost his father's life, he was willing to let it slide in the name of peace.

Guinevere had accomplished much, had proven her courage and wisdom to all those who may have yet had doubts; meanwhile, all _he_ had done was to horribly grieve an already injured woman in his unhinged temper.

He sighed. She would understand, she always did. And she would forgive him.

He resumed his stride, heading for a set of guest chambers, where he called for Merlin to assist him with his bath. Once he was clean and dressed in trousers and a shirt, he made his way to the royal chambers once more.

Out of habit, he entered without knocking, only realising that perhaps he should have once he was already inside. His entrance was made quietly, so it went unnoticed by both Guinevere and Maerwynn, as they both lay in bed talking.

The girl was pressed to his wife's side, as the latter ran one of her hands over the child's head affectionately.

"I wish I could heal you," he heard Maerwynn speak, "but I do not possess such strong magic."

"The wound will heal just fine on its own," Guinevere assured softly, "And even if you did possess such magic, I could never ask you to use it; you have done so much for me already."

Feeling like intruding on a private conversation, Arthur cleared his throat to make his presence known. Both set of eyes turned to him; while Guinevere's appeared to be guarded, Maerwynn's only conveyed annoyance at being disturbed. She was truly a strange child.

"I would like to speak with Guinevere," he said, giving the child a pointed look when she didn't seem to understand his meaning. "In private," he added, as his non-verbal manner appeared to have no effect on the girl.

Maerwynn still regarded him indifferently, her eyes turning to his wife's for instructions.

"It's alright, go," Guinevere told the child, "Why don't you stop by the kitchens, have the cook prepare you something? You've not eaten since last night."

The girl only obeyed once the request had come out of Gwen's mouth, nodding slightly before climbing over the Queen's legs and hopping off the bed. She began marching towards the doors, but paused just as she was about to walk past Arthur.

"If you are not nice to her, I will turn you into a toad."

And with that impending threat, she made her exit, shutting the doors behind her.

Arthur stared after her incredulously, his brow furrowing. "Can she really do that?"

"I couldn't say," Guinevere spoke calmly, "but I wouldn't test her if I were you."

He took a deep breath before tearing his eyes away from the door and bringing them to hers. She was still seated on the bed, resting her back against the headboard, her expression no longer conveying hurt but still cautious.

He approached the bed slowly, sighing as he took a seat on its edge, by her legs. "Guinevere," he began quietly, "what I said before, I…I'm sorry."

To his surprise, the corners of her mouth pulled into a smile. It wasn't the kind of smile that would warm his heart, though; it was a knowing, yet impossibly sad smile.

"You always are," she said, her voice low. "And I understand," she went on, not giving him a chance to inquire over her meaning, "I know your mind and its workings. But not everyone does and…I fear that, one day, you will say something – _do_ something – you shouldn't, but find those you have hurt unforgiving."

Arthur didn't quite know what to say. It was just like her to worry about him, to try and offer him guidance when he lacked wisdom. Her open heart below a levelled head had always made him admire her, and her kindness had always soothed him. Her eyes were kind now too. Always kind.

He felt like he had disappointed her.

"But _you_ will forgive me?" he queried somewhat uncertainly, though her soft manner didn't waver.

"Don't I always?" she countered, appeasing his fears. Still, there was a shade of sadness to colour her voice, as if she knew this would not be the last time he came before her, apologising for the pain he had caused her. He dreaded the day her patience would finally run out.

He reached out for her hand, slowly exhaling in relief when she didn't pull away and allowed his fingers to clasp hers. His eyes went to their joined hands as he struggled to find the right words.

"You were right," he eventually said, "about everything. If you had let Leon deal with the situation, the men would have defended the citadel until my return, and I would have led the other Knights to crush Odin's forces from the other side; perhaps we would have achieved peace then too, but it would have been at the cost of hundreds of lives…maybe even thousands. So, you were right."

Her smile grew more genuine at his admission. "So, you _will _make peace with Odin?" she prompted, and he confirmed it with a nod.

"I will. I don't particularly fancy it and I would still rather see him dead, but we do strive for peace; you were right about that too."

He toyed with her fingers for a moment, running his thumb over the ring which graced her hand. "I will have the scribes draw an initial draft of the treaty," he added, eyes still fixated on the small piece of jewellery, "and I will send word to Odin, requesting a meeting here in Camelot so that we may go over the terms."

"You do understand what this means, don't you?" she asked, her tone growing rich with excitement, "Once this treaty is signed, Camelot will be allied to all the other kingdoms. Of course, we still need everyone to make alliances between themselves as well, but it shouldn't be too hard to steer them in that direction. We are only a step away from uniting all the kingdoms as one."

His mouth pulled into a smile of his own at the enthusiasm and hope in her voice. "And that is thanks to you," he said, "Your actions have finally brought us peace. I just…I just wish you hadn't put yourself in danger in doing so."

Her head tipped to the side. "I thought you didn't want an idle Queen?"

He cursed the tears which filled his eyes. "I would rather have you idle than dead," he admitted quietly, still unable to bring his eyes to hers as he held her hand more tightly.

She was silent for a moment, sighing deeply as she brought her free hand to his temple, threading her fingers through his hair. "Come here," she instructed gently as she pushed at the back of his head with a light touch, and he scooted up the bed until he could feel her lips brush against his forehead.

A soft kiss to his cheek and then a peck on his lips followed, before she rested her own forehead against his, running her fingertips through his hair in feathery strokes. His eyes were shut tightly and he dared not open them, lest she saw he was all but crying like a small child.

"On our wedding night, I promised you I would always be here," her quietly spoken words reached his ears as her breath ghosted over his skin, "and you are the one who taught me the importance of keeping one's word. So, have no fear; I shan't break mine."

He chuckled beneath his breath, finding her words to be oddly comforting. He brought her hand between them, pressing it to his lips in gratitude. Now, he only needed to rid his eyes of those cursed tears.

"What I said before, about us being the joke of all the kingdoms," he spoke, feeling her hand's movements against his scalp come to a halt; he rushed to continue. "I think I got it the wrong way around."

He felt her relax once more, could almost hear her smile. "Is that so?"

"Indeed," he affirmed, "You see, I heard the Knights talking…it would seem you humiliated Odin in front of his men, and in quite a grand fashion. So, I'm quite certain _he_ is the joke of all the kingdoms, not us."

She laughed softly and he pried his forehead from hers, finally opening his eyes; he was satisfied to feel the tears had dried.

"You should have heard the way they spoke of you," he added, "They have surely started singing songs about you at this point, I think."

Her laughter was louder this time and the joyous sound served to calm his frayed nerves and fearful heart, allowing him to finally grin with ease as well.

Sometime later, they were interrupted by Merlin, who informed them some of the Knights wished to visit the Queen and, when the latter granted them entrance happily, warned that the men were not in an admirable state of sobriety.

The warning proved true when Elyan, Gwaine and Percival came inside, hailing the Queen loudly and bowing before her so deeply, their noses nearly touched the ground. Leon, who had trotted in behind them, seemed to be the least inebriated of the lot, keeping mostly quiet but smiling all the while.

Elyan had, naturally, taken it upon himself to first scold his sister for having endangered her life, then shower her with praise for both her accomplishments and proving her worth as a blacksmith's daughter.

Arthur's earlier assumption of the men singing songs in her honour had not been too off-mark either, as Gwaine did break into song at one point, while Elyan and Percival kept clanking goblets together as a form of accompanying music. Of course, the resulting noise was more reminiscent of gargoyles screeching to the rhythm of smashing plates, but Guinevere didn't seem to mind, laughing along heartily.

Maerwynn had reappeared in the chambers at one point too, observing the men's ridiculous display with what seemed to be genuine curiosity. After a pointed look from his wife, Arthur had taken the druid girl aside, meaning to thank her for her efforts in warning the Queen of the attack. Guinevere had told him of the child's bravery and loyalty, and he knew he had to at least thank her in person.

The exchange had been awkward at best, as Maerwynn didn't utter a single word while Arthur kept spouting phrases of gratitude, growing more uneasy with each second spent under the girl's scrutinising eyes. Finally, when he had run out of words to say, she had ended the conversation by simply informing him that one of his nostrils was slightly bigger than the other.

Such a strange child.

Come nightfall, Arthur found himself at the desk, while Guinevere slept soundly in the royal chambers. He had arranged to sleep in a different set of chambers until she recovered fully, as she seemed to think his restless sleeping manner – which had yet to change – could only set back the healing process. She really made it sound more dramatic than it was. So what if he moved around a bit in his sleep? It was not nearly as hazardous as she portrayed it to be; really, she made him sound like some sort of ogre, rolling about and crushing everything in his wake whilst he slept.

He held Leon's full report on the battle in his hands and, as he read it through, he felt his previous peace of mind fade. As the darkness grew heavier, so did his fears, and no amount of deep breathing could dispel them. Guinevere's bravery was a trait of hers he loved deeply, but it also worried him terribly.

As an experienced warrior, he had seen all matters of battle and warfare. He knew what desecration and carnage it brought, had seen men writhe in pain upon the ground and suffer horrible deaths on the battlefield. Blood and death loomed over such scenes and the wounds men could inflict upon each other were a matter of pure horror.

The thought of such a thing ever befalling his Guinevere…he could not bear it. And the stubborn woman just wouldn't understand.

He had asked her to promise him she would never venture into dangerous battles again; she had bluntly refused to make such a vow, stating she would pick her sword up again whenever the situation would require it.

Stubborn woman.

The idea of what could have happened to her that night filled him with dread still; had any true harm come to her, he would have surely lost his mind.

He could not lose her. Not her, not ever. He would not allow it. He didn't care what it cost him, he would not allow it.


	25. The Turn of Fate

Guinevere sighed softly as she cast a glance at her husband, who seemed to be rather on edge. They were seated in the council chambers, waiting for Odin's arrival. After Arthur had sent word to his kingdom, Odin had returned the messenger with an acceptance of the proposed date of meeting. The day had come, a little over a week after Arthur's return from Lot's kingdom.

The Queen's injury was barely more than a pinkish patch of irritated skin at this point, though excessive and harsh movements did still cause her a great deal of discomfort. She had insisted on being present at the meeting and had therefore been fitted into one of her gowns, made to sit in a rather uncomfortable position in the council chambers. And every time she as much as winced, Arthur's frown would deepen.

She laid her hand atop his, where it grasped the armrest. His dark look didn't lessen but his tension did ease somewhat, as he turned his hand to grasp hers fully.

The doors opened some minutes later, with Leon in the lead. The Knight bowed respectfully before announcing King Odin and his party, which consisted of no more than six men. Leon then stepped aside, allowing for the visitors to enter.

Arthur rose to his feet, helping Guinevere do to the same. She hid the slight pain the action caused well, but he still knew it had been there. And it was all because of the man who was just about to cross the threshold.

_Peace_, he kept telling himself, _all in the name of peace. _

Odin appeared in sight, bowing his head a fraction.

"Milady," he greeted Guinevere first, his expression souring as his eyes met her husband's. "Arthur."

The animosity was entirely reciprocated. "Odin."

Guinevere fought the urge to sigh. Oh, what a joyous meeting this was going to be…

"It is our pleasure to welcome you here," Arthur recited the mandatory speech, though his tone was the furthest thing from amicable, "in hopes of finally mending the rift between our kingdoms."

Odin nodded respectfully, prompting Arthur to motion for Merlin to come closer. His manservant held the initial version of the peace treaty, written with care by Camelot's scribes, resting it on the table.

The monarchs then took their seats, and Guinevere was certainly grateful for the return to a sitting position. It was still uncomfortable, but her legs were weak from days of being bedridden and she still preferred not to use them too much.

"These are our terms," Arthur proceeded, gesturing towards the long rolls of parchment placed before Odin, "We are willing to discuss minor alterations if they are not entirely to your liking."

Guinevere was certain that, should Odin seek to change as much as a letter, Arthur would just behead him on the spot and be done with it. She truly hoped Odin would prove himself smart and agree to everything.

The sovereign's eyes skimmed over the words, finding them to be acceptable. The terms were simple and generic, and he also knew better than to question them.

"I have no objections," he said after having finished reading and Arthur noticed he was addressing Guinevere instead of him, "These terms are entirely to my liking. And you have my word that I shall honour them."

The promise was made directly to the Queen and she nodded in acknowledgement, doing her best not to smile too widely. It would appear Odin had indeed proved himself smart.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of her husband.

Whether the provocation was intentional or not, a scoff came forth from Arthur, not too loudly, but it had certainly been heard by Odin.

"Something the matter?" the latter prompted tersely and Guinevere groaned internally. She should have just knocked Arthur out and attended the meeting alone.

"Well, I'm really not sure how much your word is worth these days, Odin," Arthur said, "And I'm not sure you are aware what honour actually means either."

Silence descended upon the room for a moment and Guinevere's eyes went to the ceiling. Why, by all the possible Gods? Why?

"I will not be preached to about honour by a man who kills innocent boys," Odin warned, causing Arthur's eyes to narrow.

"Your son challenged me to a fight," he hissed, "I had no choice."

"No choice, is it? No choice but to ram your sword through my boy's gut?"

Odin was on his feet and so was Arthur, raising his voice.

"I asked him to withdraw! He wouldn't listen!"

"And why couldn't _you_ withdraw, eh?" Odin challenged, his eyes going wild with anger, "You couldn't just let him have the victory, could you, you arrogant fool? He was a boy, he knew nothing of combat, you saw that! But still you could not just let him be, you had to kill him for your glory and your pride!"

"The rules of chivalry - "

"The rules be damned! He was just a boy! How can there be honour in killing one so young?"

"_You_ would speak to _me_ about honour?" Arthur shouted disbelievingly, "You send assassins after me, you kill my father, you nearly kill my Queen, and you have the _nerve_ to question _my_ honour?"

The shouting continued, going in circles. Guinevere rubbed her temple; fools, both of them. She turned her head sideways, to Merlin. The latter was very tense, observing the fight between the two Kings with apprehension; the others in the room shared the sentiment, wondering if the need for their swords would soon arise.

"Merlin," Guinevere called to him, "Drop something. Loudly."

He frowned for a moment but obliged once he understood her meaning. He looked about the room, noticing a stray goblet on the table. He shrugged, took the cup, raised it above his head, then hurled it to the ground.

The loud clang halted the shouting immediately, as both arguing men turned to the source of the noise. Merlin stood before them, the perfect picture of clumsy innocence.

"I dropped something," he stated, causing both Arthur and Odin to stare at him as if he had lost his mind. Their attention was, however, soon commanded by the Queen.

"Gentlemen," she said, rising to her feet once more; Arthur gave an odd twitch, as if meaning to assist her, but she was already standing, "You have both suffered much at the other's hand; that is no news. This meeting is, however, a chance for you to make peace and, perhaps, even amends in regards to one another."

Both Arthur and Odin bowed their heads a fraction in shame. Her eyes turned to Odin.

"Milord, what I said to you before remains true," she told him, "If it is retribution you still desire, Arthur is right here," she gestured towards her husband with a delicate flick of her wrist, "and you _are_ wearing your gauntlet. Both of you seem to be very keen on upholding honour so, by all means, go ahead."

Her voice was as calm as if she were merely discussing the weather or something such, but it seemed to make Odin shrink just a bit. Arthur frowned; really, _what_ was it she had done to make him fear her this much?

She turned to him next, composed as always. "You, of course, are free to do the same," she said, "For all the wrongs Odin has done you, you have every right to seek retribution. Throw your gauntlet, but _only_ if you are prepared to clean all the resulting blood that shall be spilled with your own hands."

Ah.

Yes, he could definitely see why Odin feared her.

Neither he nor the other King made any move to challenge the other, remaining silent. She took a deep breath.

"Well, then," she spoke again, lowering herself to her seat once more, "Shall we get on with the signing?"

The politely phrased question was nothing short of a direct order and both men knew it, complying with her wishes. A quill was presented to Odin and he brought it to the parchment, adding his signature next to Arthur and Guinevere's own ones.

No alliance was truly official without a friendly shake of hands, and Odin and Arthur clasped each other's, though not for a second longer than the strict necessary.

The table was cleared then, prompting Odin to turn to the Queen. "Milady," he said, "if you would accept it, there is something I wish to gift you with."

Her surprise was evident in the raise of her eyebrows, but she nodded nonetheless. Odin motioned for one of his men to approach and, with a slight smile, Guinevere recognised him as the boy who had shaken with fear on the night of the battle.

He held a wrapped package within his arms, placing it before her with a deep bow. "A gift from our King, milady," he told her shyly as he straightened. It was then that she noticed the small flower which had been tucked within the wrapping. She picked it up with a raised eyebrow.

"Is this from your King as well?" she questioned, making the boy blush and avert his gaze to his boots.

"Well, no, milady," he mumbled, "That is from me…and well, some of the other men too, they agreed you should be given a token of our gratitude…uh…but I picked it and…um…"

She smiled widely at the bumbling boy. "A token of your gratitude?" she repeated kindly, making the boy nod rapidly.

"For telling your men to spare our lives, milady," he clarified, his voice conveying both his respect and gratitude, "I know _I _would have surely lost my head otherwise."

Guinevere grinned at the endearing boy. "Well, we couldn't have that. A head as pretty as yours belongs right where it is, for the world to see."

The boy giggled then blushed even further at the compliment, before noticing the King of Camelot was glaring at him. Peeking to the side cautiously, he realised his own King was giving him an even more intimidating look. He swallowed nervously.

"W-well, t-thank you again, milady," he stuttered, bowing once more clumsily before scurrying away and joining his five brothers at the doors.

Odin shook his head as he watched him go. "Whatever made me think bestowing knighthood upon that one was a good thing?" he wondered, apparently appalled by his own stupidity.

Arthur made to offer a derisive comment on the skill of Odin's army but decided against it when Guinevere gave him a warning look. He pouted; it was a really amusing comment, too. One of the best jokes he had recently come up with for sure. Perhaps he could jot it down somewhere, have it in hand for future use…

"No gifts were necessary, milord," Guinevere's voice brought him out of his internal musings as she delicately unfolded the wrapping. Her eyes widened as the present was uncovered.

Odin had gifted her with an extraordinary piece of jewellery, a necklace of great beauty. The finely crafted golden chain held a pendant, large but not distastefully so, in a deep shade of blue which reflected the light in a way Guinevere had never seen before.

She knew Odin would do just about anything to remain in her good graces, but she hadn't thought he would gift her with something quite so precious.

"Do you like it?" he queried, making her laugh a little breathlessly.

"It is…beautiful," she said, though the word was hardly adequate to depict a jewel of such marvel.

"I'm pleased," he told her and she was surprised to hear what seemed to be genuine sincerity in his voice. "My treasury is filled with all kinds of necklaces, rings and bracelets," he went on, "I have amassed a veritable mountain of such treasures, but I have no daughters and my wife was lost to me many years ago."

His expression turned wistful as he continued, "I have all these jewels and no one to give them to."

Guinevere smiled slightly in sympathy. Loneliness could be such a terrible thing.

Under different circumstances, she would have had the chance to wear the beautiful piece during the feast held in honour of the signed treaty but, since she was still in no condition to attend any sort of festivities, she would have to wait for another opportunity to put it around her neck.

The feast was still held that evening, of course, but she had spent it in the royal chambers, busying herself with some light reading while giggling to herself every now and then, as she pictured the awkward atmosphere in the banquet hall below. Arthur and Odin, forced to sit next to each other at the head of the table…oh, the amusement.

Arthur had come to their chambers once it was over too, confirming her assumptions. He had had a bit more wine than usual to help him get through the night, and the liquor had turned him rather chatty.

He had dropped atop the bed, his legs dangling off the edge while his head rested in her lap, lamenting his woes – which he considered to be positively horrid – in a very lengthy fashion. She had listened through them all, eventually lulling him to sleep with her fingers' movements through his hair.

Eventually, she had had Merlin take – or rather, drag – him away, so she could get some sleep of her own.

Odin and his men left in the morning and did so, for the first time, in peace.

* * *

The chance to wear Odin's gift didn't arise until another month or so, for the Winter Solstice. As the last grand celebration of the year, the feast was to be overflowing with both drink and food. Guinevere had always enjoyed herself during the Winter Solstices, but this would be her first as Queen.

The news of the forged alliance with Odin had been heard throughout the kingdoms and, just as Camelot's sovereigns had hoped, the other kingdoms had – slowly but steadily – begun talks of peace amongst themselves as well. Guinevere had traded quite a few letters with Mithian, and the Princess had written of her parents' own alliance with Odin, which had been struck quite soon after Camelot's. The Princess had focused more on Guinevere's own accomplishments though, congratulating her on Camelot's victory and expressing the desire to visit once the weather improved. Guinevere had been more than happy to accept, assuring her friend she – and Bren, of course – could visit whenever they wished.

Absolute peace would soon be achieved and it put the Queen in a very good mood before the Winter Solstice, as Camelot would welcome the new year with hope.

The only thing missing, for Guinevere at least, was Maerwynn. The girl had been returned to her camp, as it was necessary her gifts be cultivated amongst her own people. Guinevere had been sad to see her go, having grown very attached to the child. Arthur had noticed her distress and, to her surprise, made a somewhat grand proposal.

"I know you are very fond of the child," he had told her softly after she had grown forlorn due to Maerwynn's departure, "If you want, we could take her in. As our ward."

She had been stunned to learn he would be willing to do such a thing, but had had to decline. "She belongs with the druids," she had said wistfully, "She is a future prophet and she must be raised by those who can teach and understand her."

Arthur had accepted her reasoning but had made it known the offer still stood.

_Perhaps one day_, Guinevere thought as one of her maids tightened the laces on her bodice. The Queen had not one – or even two – but three handmaidens; some had called it an act of splurging and overindulgence, but Guinevere had had her reasons for hiring all three women. She knew them well and was very aware of their financial difficulties so, in order to help them, had hired all three and paid each one the full salary meant for a Queen's maidservant.

Her husband had, naturally, called her silly.

She emerged from behind the changing screen, only to find him sulking, cloak in hand.

"What now?" she queried, dismissing her maids with a smile.

"I should just sack him," Arthur grumbled, discarding the cloak on the bed, "He's late again, drinking himself under one of the tavern's tables, no doubt."

Ah, Merlin. Of course.

She chuckled as she approached him. "You would hire him again within hours," she said, picking the red fabric up, "Admit it, you like having him around."

He scoffed. "No, I don't."

"Of course not," she humoured him, draping the cloak around his shoulders and tying it neatly before patting his chest. His previous pout turned into a smile as he caught her hand, pulling her closer.

Her arms went around his shoulder and she raised herself to her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his softly. He sighed contently, holding her tightly to his chest.

His eyes went over her face warmly, as one of his hands rose to play with a stray curl of her hair. "Did you know," he began, "that since you defeated Odin, you have been the talk of every tavern in the kingdoms?"

She frowned slightly. "What?"

"Mm-hmm," he affirmed, "That's what I've been told at least. Gwaine likes to talk, as you know, and he also likes his drink, so he is very familiar with taverns. And it's not just in Camelot, mind you; every man from other lands who passes through says the same of his own kingdom."

Guinevere bit her lip. "Oh, dear. Dare I ask what is said of me?"

"Well," he said, his fingertips now ghosting over her cheek, "many things are said, some more ridiculous than others."

His hand moved to her chin, and he ran the pad of this thumb along her lower lip gently. "All agree that you were victorious," his voice dropped to a softer note, his gaze resting upon her slightly parted mouth, "but then the tales begin to differ. One of Odin's own men, Gwaine tells me, claims you conjured flames as tall as the towers with your mind. Such power, he says, makes you a High Priestess."

"That's just silly," she dismissed the ludicrous story, "All I did was set a puddle of oil on fire."

"Well, men will say the strangest things after they've had their fill of ale," Arthur pointed out, shifting his touch along her collarbone until his hand rested at the nape of her neck, "And there is a merchant from Mercia," he continued, his voice near a whisper now, "who says you walked through those same flames, and that they could not burn you. Now that, according to him, must mean that you are no mortal woman," he leaned in closer, "That you," he placed a small kiss just below her ear, "are a goddess."

Her resulting giggle was more resembling of a soft moan as he continued trailing his lips along her jaw.

"And what do you think?" she queried somewhat breathlessly, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I think they're all idiots," he concluded, finally bringing his lips to her own, kissing her with fervour.

His hands gripped her tighter, fisting the fabric of her skirts and she felt herself being moved, her feet beginning to leave the ground.

"Alright, clotpole, I'm h – oh!"

Guinevere jumped at the interruption, her eyes snapping to the side as they widened.

Merlin stood a bit further down the room, biting his lip nervously. The King and Queen were in a rather compromising position, seeing as her skirts were bunched in his hands and her leg was halfway up his thigh. Also, the King seemed just about ready to murder him.

The Queen cleared her throat as she extracted herself from her husband's hold, smoothing any possible wrinkles on her gown awkwardly. Arthur still glared at his manservant.

"_Now_ you show up," he hissed, making Merlin shift uncomfortably.

"You did tell about half the castle to fetch him," Guinevere pointed out, giving her friend an apologetic smile.

Arthur muttered something intelligible, though it was obviously a complaint of some sort. Still displeased at being interrupted, he grumbled, "I trust your time in the tavern was pleasant?"

Merlin sighed. He couldn't even deny it this time, as he had genuinely been in the tavern. Tough, in all fairness, Gwaine had made him go.

He noticed Guinevere giving him an odd look, as if debating whether she would speak or not. "I can _hear_ you thinking, Gwen," he told her lightly, "What's the matter?"

She grinned at the words before turning pensive. "Arthur tells me there are all sorts of stories surrounding my name, that I am the talk of all the taverns; is that true?"

Great, now even Gwen thought he spent his days in the tavern. _The one time I actually go there_, he thought, _the ONE time_.

Still, he _had_ heard the men speak. "It is," he affirmed, "Men like to talk, you know how it is."

She nodded. "And the one about me being a…High Priestess, is it common in our taverns?"

He frowned slightly, unsure as to where she was going with this. "Common enough," he said at length, his tone one of caution, "Though it's all whispers; people will not just go about saying their Queen is a sorceress."

"I would imagine not, but perhaps we should encourage such rumours," she suggested and, at Arthur and Merlin's subsequent drooping of jaws, added, "We aim to change the people's minds where the true nature of magic is concerned; maybe the idea that their Queen has magic will be beneficial. Whether they believe it or not is not important; what matters is that they see such opinions can be voiced freely. And, if they do believe it, I like to think they will remember my heart and thus, soften their views on sorcery."

Arthur nodded his approval, impressed but unsurprised by his wife's slyness. Merlin, on his part, was positively beaming.

Truthfully, he had done nothing _but_ beam with happiness lately. It was only a matter of time now, mere months, before all the kingdoms would be united. Soon, Albion would be born. He had waited for it so many years, had done things which burdened his conscience for it, and now, it was finally here. To make matters even more joyous, the King and Queen were still unwavering in their desire to lift the ban. He knew it was Gwen who was the most insistent; Arthur would still doubt himself every now and then but Gwen would ease his worries each time, pushing him towards doing the right thing.

Her wishes to bring freedom – true freedom – to those with magic were evident in the suggestion she had just voiced too, and Merlin could have simply hugged her until he suffocated her with gratitude.

Well no, that would probably be a very poor way of thanking her. Still, he was more grateful than he could say. Perhaps he would tell her of his own secret too, one of these days.

It took him a moment to notice she was observing him with curiosity, her head tipped to the side slightly. Maybe his excitement was just a tad too obvious.

Arthur seemed to notice her expression as well, frowning once he got a look at Merlin's face. "What is wrong with you?"

So rude and insensitive. Sometimes, Merlin really did wonder why someone as kind as Gwen would love such a complete arse.

He shrugged. "I'm just happy, that's all."

Unsurprisingly, Arthur snorted. "Well, with a mind as simple as yours - "

"Don't be mean," Guinevere scolded before the insult could fully pass his lips and, to Merlin's immense satisfaction, Arthur quieted down immediately. It didn't stop him from glaring at his manservant, though. Said manservant only grinned back, feeling vindicated.

Shaking her head at their antics, Guinevere turned to her vanity, carefully lifting the necklace she was to wear. She still marvelled at its beauty. Of course, she was immune to Odin's ways of flattery but the piece was still beautiful.

Arthur caught the awe in her eyes and smiled. "The way you keep looking at it, I'm starting to think you love that little jewel more than you love me."

She grinned as she looked over her shoulder. "Well, it _is_ very beautiful."

"Not nearly as beautiful as you," he declared, sending her into a fit of amused laughter. His own lips pulled into a grin at the sound, his expression filled with affection.

Merlin felt a smile of his own come forth as he watched his two friends, and especially Arthur. There was always a certain look which entered the King's eyes when they would rest on Guinevere, and Merlin was certain it could melt even the hardest of hearts, if they would linger in its presence long enough.

The past weeks had been hard on Arthur, as he waited for Gwen to heal and did his best not to linger on the knowledge that he had nearly lost her. While he slept in separate chambers, Merlin would often find him already awake in the morning; he knew why Arthur had trouble sleeping, but the latter would not allow him to speak of it. Still, the Queen recovered fully and as her health improved, so did Arthur's mood.

He looked truly happy.

"Do you need help with that?" Arthur asked as he pointed to the ornament, offering his services in helping Guinevere with its clasp.

"No need," she said, pulling her hair out of the way as brought the piece of jewellery to her neck.

As his services were apparently not required, Merlin turned on his heel to leave in the direction of the banquet hall.

A few steps in, his body jolted.

He felt a surge of magic, _powerful_ magic, course through him, drowning out the sounds around him as it froze him in the spot and buzzed in his ears.

A shout pierced the oppressing silence and he spun around just in time to see the King catching the Queen's limp body before it could touch the ground.

* * *

**A/N: Da da da dum...**


	26. The Tale of a Timeless Love

**A/N: First things first, my apologies (again) for not responding to reviews. I can't even blame it on college hours this time. See, most reviews were basically stuff of the 'Was it Odin? Was it Morgana? Curse you and your cliffhanger!' variety...and well, I couldn't very well tell you who it was or what comes next, could I? I do thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments and encouragement - also, I may be enjoying the power evil cliffhangers give me a little too much - and I hope the speedy update will make up for my lack of manners :)**

**Moving on. For those of you who may not know this, and this will make sense as you read on, Ganieda (or Gwenddydd in the Welsh versions) was Merlin's sister in the legends, and it is said she even outgrew him in power by the end of it all. Then again, so did basically every other sorceress in the legends...even if he is supposedly the mightiest of the magical lot. Just sayin'. **

**Anyway, I thought it would be better to use a known character from the legends for the story rather than just add another one to my endless pile of OCs.**

**Finally, this is where the story starts getting...let's go with 'weird'. I tried to keep it as plausible as possible and add some logic to it, but I will ask you to - pretty please - keep an open mind. Also, I give you my solemn, fanfic author's word that I had this particular development planned_ looong_ before there was as much as a spoiler released for episode 5x03. Whether this makes me psychic or just terribly unimaginative, I'm still not sure.**

**Right, I think that about covers it all. Carry on. **

* * *

Arthur paced the room as he waited for Gaius to be brought to the royal chambers.

Elyan, along with a few more Knights, was present as well and shared his King's anxiety.

Merlin stood by the side, feeling fear swell in his chest. After Gwen had collapsed, both he and Arthur had tried to wake her, but their efforts had been fruitless. So they had laid her upon the bed, where she remained still, unmoving. Her breathing was deep and steady, but she could not be roused and Merlin knew it was because of the jewel she had put around her neck.

The magic within the crystal had been extremely potent and the warlock could sense this was no mere enchanted trinket; this was something infinitely more powerful. And, while Arthur had failed to spot this in his fear and haste, Merlin had noticed that, no matter how they moved Gwen, the necklace remained firmly in place, as though it had been glued to her skin. The magic within the crystal still pulsed in the air, though it was now more subdued, a constant but unobtrusive presence.

The doors opened and Gaius rushed inside, accompanied by Gwaine.

All thoughts of the feast had been forgotten and what should have been a night of celebration had turned into one of dread.

The physician approached the Queen as quickly as his old age would allow him, immediately reaching for her wrist. He found the beat of her heart beneath his fingers, strong and steady.

"I don't know what happened," Arthur began speaking before Gaius had even inquired over the events, "She just fell, I…I can't rouse her. Gaius, what's wrong with her?"

He waited for a response but none came, as Gaius' eyes rested on the pendant around her neck, his brow furrowed.

Merlin observed him carefully and noticed the minute shiver which passed through him, the way his eyes closed for a fraction of a second; Gaius had felt the magic too. And, if even he could feel it, the warlock dreaded to think just how mighty it was.

"Gaius?" Arthur prompted again, his tone growing more demanding.

"How did the Queen acquire this necklace?" the physician asked, his sombre tone sending chills down Merlin's spine.

The King seemed bewildered, obviously not having presumed the piece of jewellery to be the cause of his wife's ill. "It was a gift from Odin. He gave it to her when we signed the peace treaty."

Gaius said nothing in response, only placing the Queen's hand back atop the covers. Arthur watched him in confusion; why wasn't he examining her?

There was a moment of silence before the physician spoke again. "This is no ordinary jewel," he said, eyes still trained on the peculiar blue ornament, "It was lost many years ago and I have only ever read and seen drawings of it, but I am certain of its nature."

"Are you saying the jewel is making her ill, Gaius?" Elyan queried, just as confused as the rest of them.

The physician shook his head slightly. "She is not ill, Elyan."

Arthur felt his patience running out. "Gaius…"

"But it is causing her harm, isn't it?" Elyan interjected again, "Why don't we just remove it, then?"

Gaius sighed before reaching with his hand and grasping the pendant, pulling upwards. It wouldn't budge. "Because we cannot," he said simply as he retracted his fingers, and Elyan nodded numbly.

The elder man took a deep breath before turning to face the King; the latter did his best to ignore the desolate look in the physician's eyes.

"This jewel is the crystal of Ganieda," Gaius informed solemnly, "Or Gwenddydd, as she is known to the druids."

"She?"

"Ganieda lived many, _many_ years ago and she remains, to this day, the most powerful sorceress the world has ever seen. She was a High Priestess…the _first_ High Priestess."

Arthur blinked, then shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of it all. "So, the crystal is enchanted?"

Gaius nodded. "This crystal contains powerful magic indeed."

The King gritted his teeth against the rising anger. He wanted answers, and he wanted them _now_.

"What kind of magic?"

Gaius sighed deeply. "Ganieda, as I said, was the first High Priestess, the first such servant to the Triple Goddess. It was she who began teaching other women of magic, who - "

"I don't want to hear some bedtime story, Gaius!" Arthur interrupted impatiently, his voice rising, "Tell me what's wrong with Guinevere!"

The physician remained composed, though there was an ever-present sense of foreboding in his posture. "You will want to hear the story, sire," he said calmly, his hands clasped at the front of his robes. It only served to infuriate Arthur further.

"Just tell me what's wrong with her!"

Gaius didn't flinch. "You _will_ want to hear the story, sire," he repeated, still calm, still patient; still inexplicably sad.

The tone made Arthur quiet down, dread seizing his throat. He nodded as he swallowed tightly, giving the physician permission to continue.

"All those centuries ago, Ganieda began teaching other woman of magic, showing them the ways of the Old Religion," the physician resumed his tale, "But she was also wise and she knew that, no matter how great her power, her time would eventually come. It is not entirely clear whether she crafted this crystal with her magic alone or if she had help; some say she was aided by the Sidhe, others say dragons were involved. No matter her means, Ganieda made the crystal, intending to leave it to her disciples, so that she may continue to guide them after her death, should they need her counsel."

No one spoke for some time, as everyone struggled to comprehend the true purpose of this crystal. From his position in the corner, Merlin drew in a shaky breath. He had a suspicion as to the object's powers, but remained quiet, waiting for Gaius to continue.

"The crystal," the physician went on, "is in fact a gateway to the spirit world."

All the men stilled, staring at the storyteller with wide eyes. He waited for a moment, letting it settle in, before proceeding. "Whoever wears this crystal around their neck is taken to the spirit world, where they may meet their late loved ones, before they return to their bodies and the world of the living."

"But…that means Guinevere can return," Arthur spoke up, feeling as though this should be reason for hope. Still, Gaius seemed so forlorn and it twisted the King's gut into knots; why did he look so sad?

"You must understand that this crystal was made by a High Priestess," Gaius said, "for _other_ High Priestesses. Ganieda was, as I said, a wise woman. She knew many would try and acquire the crystal for themselves; Kings and warlords would spill endless blood to get their hands on it. So, Ganieda ensured that, should the crystal ever fall into the wrong hands, the wearer would not be able to truly enter the spirit world. There is a maze, you see; a maze before the gate to the spirit world. And the way through it is only known by High Priestesses; them and them alone."

Arthur found that his voice had failed him. His lips trembled but he could not force the words out, too afraid to even ask.

Sighing softly, Gaius continued. "Anyone else," he spoke in a voice heavy with regret, "a person of lesser magic, or one of no magic at all, would be lost in the maze; they would not know how to come to the gates of the spirit world or how to return to those of our world. They would be trapped…until their bodies could last no longer…and their hearts stopped."

The room was silent. No man could find the strength to speak and it took a toll on the physician's own, aging heart to look into the eyes of the boy he had seen grown into a King, and see such fear in them.

Finally, it was Elyan's voice that broke the quietness, low and trembling. "Will my sister die, Gaius?"

Arthur turned to the Knight sharply. If it were anyone other than the Queen's brother uttering such words, he would have hung them for treason. Guinevere would not die.

"I wish I could reassure you, Elyan," Gaius told him, "And perhaps, if things were different…"

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur demanded, straining to keep his voice from cracking.

Gaius took a deep breath. "After Ganieda herself died, the other High Priestesses did, over time, allow for others to wear the crystal. Either someone they owed a favour to or someone who had paid them handsomely; as such people would need to be guided through the maze, the Priestesses would send a prayer upon their late sisters, asking them to provide such guidance."

The King swallowed his tears as he understood the physician's meaning; after everything, no High Priestess would ever help them, no matter how much they prayed or begged.

"Could…could we not use magic?" he asked, ignoring the looks of disbelief on the Knights' faces, "If magic is the cause of this, then…then it must also be the solution…"

"Arthur…"

He stood closer to Gaius, grasping his shoulders. "That sorcerer," he said, lowering his voice, "the one you asked to heal my father, you said he had meant no harm, so…so maybe he would want to make amends?"

His tone was that of a desperate and pleading man, but he didn't care. And yet, Gaius regarded him with nothing but sadness.

"There is nothing he would wish for more," the physician assured, "but he cannot help us now. If any magic interferes with the crystal's own one, the connection to our world will be severed completely; the Queen would die instantly."

Arthur's jaw tightened at the words, and so did his grip on Gaius' shoulders. "There must be something you can do," he hissed, "She cannot die, Gaius."

"I wish there was something I could do, Arthur. But I can't. I am sorry."

He released the physician with a low growl of anger, turning in the spot a little madly as he ran his hands through his hair. No one made a sound as he paced, both too fearful and shocked to speak.

Finally, the whirling stopped. "Morgana," the King said, "She is a High Priestess, the last one. She can help."

Gaius stared at the other man incredulously. "Morgana will never help you, you know that."

Arthur swallowed tightly, his eyes going to Guinevere's still form, as he remarked, "For the right price, she just might."

"But not one you can allow yourself to pay," Gaius cautioned, fearing how reckless Arthur could become in the current situation. He knew what Morgana would require and it could never be given to her.

The King's gaze still rested on his wife and, as he saw the depths of despair which lingered there, Gaius knew his fears would come true.

"I am willing to pay whatever price is necessary."

It came out as a hollow whisper but he had meant every word, and Gaius knew it. His eyes went to Merlin's; the young warlock seemed positively frightened of the consequences, of what the price may be.

Feeling it was his duty to protect the future they had all fought for, Gaius came to a decision. He approached the King, grasping his arm kindly. "Do not despair yet, Arthur," he advised, "Striking a deal with Morgana is not a decision to be made lightly. I will go through my books; perhaps there is something that I have forgotten, something that might help. I am, after all, an old man; my memory is not as sharp as it used to be. Give me some time, and I will try to find a way to save the Queen."

Arthur nodded rapidly, putting his trust in the man who had helped them through so many trials. He would find a way, he always did.

Some moments passed and Arthur's eyes, ever trained on his wife, grew from desperate to cold with fury.

"Odin did this," he hissed, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted him. But he will pay."

He turned to Leon. "You will ride at first light," he ordered, "And you will bring him to me."

The words were laced with deadly threat and the King's intent was clear to everyone; Odin would be shown no mercy.

Again, Gaius felt it was his duty to moderate the King's temper. "Sire, are you certain he meant harm to the Queen?" he tried to be the voice of reason, "It is possible he didn't know the true nature of the gift. I doubt even Odin would be so foolish as to _personally_ deliver the means of assassination, to put it in the Queen's hands himself. Sending assassins is rather transparent, but this would be _too_ transparent. Even he is not that much of a fool."

Still, Arthur remained convinced Odin's intentions in gifting Guinevere were nothing but malicious. "He knew," he ascertained, "He fears Guinevere and, like the coward that he is, does _this_ to get her out of the way. And if he thinks I will not have his head for fear of war, then he is mistaken."

Gaius sighed, realising the King could not be reasoned with at the moment. He moved backwards, deciding to leave any further discussion on Odin for another time.

Arthur turned to the Knights. "Leave us," he commanded and while most obliged, Elyan lingered behind, trying to protest.

"Sire…"

"Leave us!" Arthur repeated more harshly and even though the order made Elyan blink back tears, he complied with a small nod. It pained him to be separated from his sister, but the King was in no mood to be challenged.

As the men filed out of the room, Gaius spoke up. "Merlin and I will try to find something," he assured, "We still have time."

"How…how much time?" Arthur dared ask, dreading the answer.

"No more than two days," the physician told him sombrely before motioning for Merlin to follow him. They exited the chambers in silence, leaving Arthur alone.

He exhaled shakily before moving to the bed and taking a seat next to Guinevere. His hand went to her cheek, feeling it still comfortingly warm under his touch. He nodded; she would be alright, she always was.

It was still a terrible thing to know she was now trapped in a place with no end and no beginning, all by herself. She was brave, his Guinevere, but it pained him to know she was all alone, in the horrible unknown, probably with no idea of what was happening to her.

"Don't be frightened," he whispered, "We will save you."

Odds were she couldn't hear him, but she had to know he was trying to get her out. He would save her, she had to know that.

Merlin and Gaius would find something. They had to.

* * *

As soon as they had passed the threshold of the physician's quarters, Merlin went for the shelves, grabbing armfuls of books they could look through. He had already set aside a considerable amount before noticing Gaius had merely seated himself in his chair, making no move whatsoever to go through the texts.

"What are you doing?" the warlock queried somewhat irritably, "We can't waste a second, if we only have two days, we must - "

"There is no point, Merlin," Gaius told him, his tone one of hollow defeat. "There is nothing we can do."

"What? You told Arthur you would look!"

The older man raised his eyes to those of the warlock, freezing him in the spot with his desolate look. "I said I would look because I didn't want Arthur to go to Morgana. But there is nothing in those books; what I have told you before is all there is to know."

Merlin shook his head. "No, Gaius, there must be something," he insisted, "We can't just let Gwen die."

"I would help if I could, Merlin, you know I would. But only High Priestesses can help. Morgana never will…and what High Priestess would be willing to help any of us anyway? I betrayed them all when I pledged allegiance to Uther…none of them would listen to _my_ prayers."

The warlock gulped. "Well, maybe they would listen to mine?" he suggested, knowing the possibility was feeble at best, "I am a creature of magic as much as they are, I want freedom as much as they did…maybe they will listen to me."

"You killed two of their own, Merlin," Gaius pointed out, "You struck Nimueh down on the Isle of the Blessed and you condemned Morgause to a slow death by emptying the Cup of Life. They would never forgive you. And besides, do you really believe any Priestess would help the wife of the man who holds the very last of their kind prisoner?"

Gaius regarded the young warlock with sad, though steady eyes; his logic was sound. Merlin knew it. Still, he could not just sit by and do nothing.

"Well, I can at least try!" he raised his voice, feeling tears of despair sting the corners of his eyes. "I can't let Gwen die, Gaius, not now. Don't you see what will happen if she doesn't wake?"

The physician knew the consequences well but still, Merlin went on, his voice faltering in his despair. "Arthur will blame Odin, whether he did it or not, and he will start a war, he will destroy the peace they've made! And…and Albion will never happen, everything I have worked for, everything I have sacrificed for, will be gone! If Gwen is taken from him, you know Arthur will go mad! And…Gaius, if she dies because of magic…"

He dared not even finish the thought, but the implications hung in the air around them, and they were a thing to fear. The image of what would come danced before the warlock's eyes and it made dread grip his heart. To Arthur, Gwen's death would prove Uther right and, in his quest for vengeance, he would be even worse than his father; he would hunt every last person of magic down and he would kill them all, but without Guinevere, his right mind would also be lost. A madman on the hunt through all the lands; the fire would burn them all.

"I have to try," he said, his voice trembling and Gaius could only nod; the attempt was hopeless but there was nothing he could say to make it better.

Merlin went to his room, shutting the door and finding himself cloaked in darkness. He felt his way to the bed and sat atop it wearily, deciding against lighting any candles. It would be easier to do this in the dark.

He breathed in deeply as he closed his eyes, forcing his head to clear. He opened his mind beyond the confines of the mortal world, focusing on the image of Nimueh; he would start with her.

The bond was created and he felt the Priestess' presence in his blood, voicing a plea for help in his thoughts.

Immediately, he felt a searing pain cut through his temple. He gasped and brought a hand to his head, exhaling tremulously. Nimueh had turned him down.

Alright, Morgause then. It was an extremely long shot, but he would try. Unsurprisingly, his prayers were rejected this time too, and he grunted faintly at the pain. No Morgause, then.

He sighed as he focused again. He would need to reach out to other Priestesses now, those he did not know. It was easier with Nimueh and Morgause as he had known them whilst they lived, but he would be able to reach those long dead too; it would just require a bit more effort.

His magic searched theirs and he could feel their essences, forging the spiritual bond every time he would recognise the soul of a High Priestess.

And every time, they would deny him. Pain surged through his skull over and over again, making him grab fistfuls of his hair against the agony, still desperately trying to find one that would help him; just one.

None would.

The pain twisted his limbs and made him howl in misery, but they would not answer his pleas and they would turn him down, hissing their hatred as they tormented him.

He shouted as he broke the last bond, gasping and sobbing in the silence.

They wouldn't help him, not one of them. How could it have come to this? He had magic too, he was like them, he wanted the same thing as they! He had wronged them, certainly, but how could they not answer a single one of his prayers?

How had he managed to alienate all those of his kind?

Tears came down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands; he had failed.

"Please, Father, if you can hear me," he sobbed desperately into the darkness, "Help me."

* * *

Sleep eluded most residents of the castle that night, including Merlin. He had spent the hours before dawn secluded in his room, staring out at the darkness. When light began seeping through the window, he ventured outside and found Gaius still seated in his chair, staring at his hands.

They exchanged few words, mostly agreeing on how to stop Arthur from instigating a war with Odin.

After leaving the quarters, Merlin went in search of Leon. He found the Knight, along with two others, in the square, readying to ride out through the harsh cold and snow. He looked as forlorn as any of them, dreading both the journey to Odin's kingdom and the news that might greet him upon his return to Camelot.

Merlin approached him carefully, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "Don't tell Odin the true reason why Arthur summoned him," he advised, "Don't tell him of what's happened to Gwen. If he truly is behind this, then he won't come once he learns of her situation."

Leon nodded curtly. "I wasn't going to tell him," he said, "nor was I going to accuse him of any crimes. His men would draw their swords in an instant."

He sighed deeply, his eyes going to the bleak, grey skies. "I think I'll tell him the Queen wishes to see him as well," he added, "He won't deny a request from her, he fears her too much…and he won't know that she is…"

Leon's voice trailed off, his words ending on a sigh. "He won't know," he echoed simply, grasping his horse's reins. Merlin nodded, shaking the Knight's hand before setting off for the royal chambers.

He found the King awake, sitting in a chair next to the bed and clutching at the Queen's hand. His eyes went to Merlin's as he entered, and the warlock noticed the faint redness which rimmed them.

"You should get some sleep," he proposed quietly, knowing Arthur had probably spent the night simply staring at Gwen, hoping she would wake.

"I'm fine," Arthur retorted, though his weariness was all too obvious, "Have you found anything?"

Merlin could hear the faint hope in his friend's voice and it made him hold back tears; there was nothing to be found, but he had to lie, lie until the very end, to stop him from going to Morgana.

"Nothing yet," he managed to say, "But we will keep looking."

The sliver of hope died in Arthur's eyes and it pained the warlock; there was nothing he could do to make this right. He did grasp at one last glimmer of faith, though; he would summon the dragon come nightfall and Kilgharrah would have to possess the answers they could not find in the books.

"Perhaps I can help too?" Arthur suggested after a pause, "If you would bring me some of the books here, I could read through them…"

Merlin found that words failed him.

"Don't look so shocked, I can read," Arthur added as he glanced at Merlin's expression; the attempt at humour was meagre but the warlock laughed anyway, a small, hollow chuckle.

"Yeah, I'll bring some over," he promised, struggling to maintain his composure.

Silence ensued as Arthur's eyes cast downwards again, to his wife. "Her skin is getting colder," he spoke after a time, "And…I think her heart is beating more slowly, I'm not sure."

"She's been lying still for some hours now," Merlin said, "It's to be expected."

Arthur nodded almost imperceptibly to acknowledge the words, seeming to tighten his hold on Guinevere's hand the faintest bit. The warlock watched his jaw clench and his lips press together, as he tried to disguise his emotions. After a while, he relented with a deep sigh.

"I can't lose her, Merlin."

Merlin felt the urge to look away, to do _anything_, but be forced to witness this. He never wanted to see it, his strong, brave friend, looking so scared, like a young boy trembling in the dark. So scared.

The warlock pushed all his tears down with a gulp, commanding his mouth to pull into a smile of reassurance. "You won't. She'll be fine," he lied, "We'll find a way, we always do."

"Yeah," Arthur whispered, "Fetch me those books, will you?"

Merlin complied with a nod, making his way back to the physician's chambers. He grabbed a few books, knowing nothing could be found in them, but also knowing it would keep Arthur distracted from thoughts of going to Morgana. He couldn't allow that. Besides, the dragon would help them. He had to.

He carried the books back to the royal chambers, along with a tray of food, which he was certain Arthur would not even glance at.

Leaving his master alone with a pile of books and a dying wife, the warlock returned to Gaius, waiting for the sun to set so he could sneak out to call for Kilgharrah. The days were rather short this time of the year, and it would not be long before the night fell.

"I should have known," he said at one point, "that the necklace was enchanted. How could I have not sensed it?"

Gaius sighed, toying with a quill absentmindedly. "It is said the crystal is dormant until it is placed above a beating heart," he explained, "There was no way for you to know, Merlin."

"Still, I should have been warier. Odin gifting the woman who defeated him with something so precious…how could I have thought nothing of it?"

The physician shook his head slightly. "I still don't believe it was Odin's intention to kill Gwen," he said, "As I told Arthur, even _he_ is not that much of a fool."

"You must admit that it's very suspicious, though."

"It is. But appearances can be deceiving. Besides, I can't imagine Odin giving something as valuable as the crystal of Ganieda away, if he knew of its true power."

Merlin remained unconvinced of Odin's innocence but knew he would still need to stop Arthur from taking the other King's head. The resulting war would bring nothing but devastation.

He retired to his room until the already meek light of day disappeared completely, putting on his warmest coat before emerging.

His stride slowed somewhat as he noticed Gaius' expression; the physician was staring off in the distance, with brimming tears in his eyes. Merlin had never seen him in such a state.

"I lied, Merlin," he spoke, not meeting the warlock's querying gaze.

"Lied about what?"

"About how much time Gwen has," he admitted, his voice low and unsteady.

Merlin's eyes widened, his posture tensing. "You said she had two days…"

"She only has a little over _one._"

"WHAT?"

Gaius flinched slightly and sighed, trying to level his breathing. "The crystal was made for women of powerful magic, magic which makes their bodies stronger…they can last up to a week. But Gwen…she is just an ordinary woman. Her body can only tolerate such magic for a little over a day."

Merlin stared at the physician incredulously, raising his voice, "How could you lie about something like that?"

"I needed to keep Arthur away from Morgana…we cannot allow him to make any deals with her."

"So, you thought it best to fool him, and let Gwen die before he can grow desperate enough to seek Morgana out?" the warlock was shouting now, unlike he had ever spoken to Gaius before.

"With or without Gwen, we must protect the future we have worked for."

"Well, why didn't you tell _me_? She could die tonight, Gaius!"

"I'm telling you now."

Merlin could only shake his head helplessly, as tears clouded his vision.

On the other side of the closed door, Elyan gritted his teeth in anger before rushing in the direction of the royal chambers. The King needed to be told quickly.

* * *

Arthur hurled yet another book into the distance.

These were useless. He had gone through the odd writings, but none of his reading had produced any results.

He sighed as his eyes went back to Guinevere's still form. It terrified him, the stillness. And the silence.

His Guinevere was not one to waste words idly, but even when no sounds would leave her mouth, she would always grace him with a small smile or a knowing look. She was never this still; this quiet.

It terrified him.

He wiped at the stray tear which had slid down his cheek furiously; tears would do him no good now. She would surely chide him for crying like a babe when he was meant to be strong and focused. _She_ wouldn't cry; she would work restlessly until she found a solution. He tried too, but he was no good at it. He knew nothing of sorcery and the books offered no answers; he had no idea what else to do.

"You can't leave me," he told her quietly, squeezing her hand and shuddering at how cold it had grown.

As cold as death itself.

He shut his eyes against the grim thought, shaking his head and exhaling sharply to dispel it; Guinevere would not die.

She had promised. She had promised to always be there and she had said she could not break her word. So, there. She would not die.

The reasoning was weak at best and he knew it, but he clung onto it desperately. Guinevere could not leave him, not like this, not in any way. He had only just gotten her back; it had not been three full months since their wedding. That could not be all the time he got to spend with her; they were meant to have years, years to be happy and together, living in the peace they were to bring to the land.

She could not leave him.

As the darkness fell upon the city, the faint orange glow from the courtyard below bathed the room. Arthur looked over his shoulder to the window; the air was cold, turning breath into steam and tears into ice but the people still stood there, lighting candles in prayers for their Queen.

He really wished they wouldn't do that. She would not die, and there was no need for prayers.

Still, the fire burned in the night.

Fire.

That was exactly what he would give Odin. He would set his entire land on fire, he would burn every crop and every house to the ground. And those with magic…

Guinevere's kind heart had made her believe there was good in others beside the peaceful druids, but he was not quite so blind, not anymore. Odin was a fool, and he had to have been given help in order to orchestrate this; sorcerers had conspired against them once more and, this time, he would show them no forgiveness. His father may have wronged them, but their hearts were evil now, and when he brought Odin's kingdom down, he would burn them right alongside.

He would burn them all.

The doors were pushed open with force, and Elyan ran inside, his breathing laboured and ragged.

"Sire…"

* * *

Gaius jumped when the King burst inside his chambers, the image of wild fury. Elyan was at his heels, sporting a very similar expression.

The physician scrambled to his feet, not even getting a chance to speak before Arthur was in his face.

"Is it true?" he queried, "Does she only have one day?"

Gaius stared in surprise, his eyes going from the King to Elyan.

"I came by earlier to see if you needed help," the latter explained, his tone stony, "and I heard you talking to Merlin."

Gaius inhaled sharply at the words, his gaze dropping to the ground. "It is true, sire," he confessed in defeat, his voice low and quiet.

The heat of Arthur's rage burned him with shame.

"I should have you hanged for treason," Arthur spat disdainfully but voiced no sentence, instead turning on his heel to exit the quarters.

The physician grew panicked. "You can't go to Morgana, Arthur!"

The King whirled on him again. "You will not tell me what I can or cannot do!" he yelled, grabbing the aging man by the collar of his robe, "You should consider yourself lucky to be alive," he hissed before letting go, marching out of the room as Elyan slammed the door shut behind them.

With stuttering breaths, Gaius leaned against the table for support, running a hand over his face. This could not be.

* * *

The cold air blazed Merlin's lungs as he ran to the clearing beyond the castle, melting the snow with fire when it slowed his pace.

He arrived to the large expanse of grass, now covered in white, panting and exhausted.

"_Forbærne yfe!l_ " he shouted and as his eyes flared in gold, flames drew a wide circle on the edges of the clearing. The fire melted the snow and provided heat, but was not diminished by the escaping water.

He raised his head to the skies, inhaling deeply. "_O drakon!," he yelled into the night, "E mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo!_"

His voice carried through the air and moments later, wind blew around him, signalling the dragon's arrival. Kilgharrah touched the ground within the circle of flames, bowing his head in greeting.

He noticed Merlin's distress and the dried trail of tears on his cheeks. "What it is the matter, young warlock?"

Merlin sighed shakily before speaking, "I need your help. Gwen, she is wearing the crystal of Ganieda, she only has hours to live now. Please, tell me how to save her."

Kilgharrah said nothing for a while, his wide yellow eyes conveying regret and Merlin felt every last bit of hope he had slowly die.

"There is nothing you can do, Merlin," the dragon spoke at length, "I am sure you know only a High Priestess can help her. Your magic cannot save her."

"Yours, then!" the warlock shouted, "Gaius said dragons may have helped create the crystal, maybe you can - "

"Dragons were not involved," Kilgharrah interrupted, "It was Ganieda alone who created the crystal. The other rumours are untrue, young warlock."

Merlin felt new tears sting his eyes. "So, you're telling me that's it? Gwen is meant to die tonight?"

"That, I do not know, Merlin."

"Of course you do, you know everything!"

"No, I do not, young warlock," Kilgharrah retorted calmly, "But, if these are to be your Queen's last hours," he added, "then there is something you must do. Upon her dying breath, you must go to the lake of Avalon, to the isle which lies at its heart and you must lay Guinevere to rest there. And, when the time should come, you must lay Arthur to rest by her side."

Merlin frowned, shaking his head as he struggled to understand. "What? Wh…why Avalon?"

"Because that is their home."

"Just give me a straight answer!"

Kilgharrah regarded him calmly, his head tipping to the side a fraction. "They are the Once and Future King and Queen," he reminded him, "Have you ever wondered what those words mean, young warlock?"

"I…I just reckoned it was another way of saying Arthur is the greatest King the world has ever known and…well, that…Gwen is his Queen."

The Great Dragon nodded. "That is true," he said, "but the prophets' words are never chosen in vain, Merlin. Each and every one has meaning."

"Right…so, what do these mean?"

"They mean Arthur's destiny does not only lie in this time, but beyond it as well," Kilgharrah informed him, "The prophets have always known this. But, they have also known that he and his Queen are not to be separated."

Merlin watched him in both confusion and annoyance; why could he never just get to the point?

"It has been foretold many centuries ago, young warlock, the story of Arthur and Guinevere," the dragon went on, passing on the tale heard over hundreds of years ago, "The Once and Future King and his Queen, together in death as they were in life. For all eternity."

The warlock remained silent, his eyes going to the ground as his mind whirled with this new knowledge. The dragon proceeded to add, "I have told you once before, Merlin, that love is a force greater than you or I can comprehend. The ancient prophets could not either; they did not know how or why, but they were certain of their words. It is said, of Arthur and Guinevere, that where one goes, the other must follow. Even in death."

Finally, after long moments of silence, Merlin found his voice. "You said it was Arthur's destiny to unite Albion and bring peace."

"That is his destiny, yes. And it is yours to guide him."

Merlin sniffled. "It can never happen without Gwen."

"With or without the Queen, your destiny remains the same. It is _your_ destiny to turn Arthur into the King he is meant to be, not hers."

"Without her, he will be a broken man."

"Then it will be your duty to _fix_ him."

Merlin sighed, feeling his strength drain. As if his load wasn't heavy enough already, his old friend was about to die and he was meant to scrape another friend's mind back together after he had lost it.

"Why have you never told me this before?" he queried, and the dragon seemed to shrug.

"It was never relevant before," he replied simply, making Merlin huff with anger.

"You know what, new rule. From now on, you tell me _everything_ you know and _I_ will be the one to decide whether it's relevant or not!"

He paced back and forth in agitation, but Kilgharrah remained composed.

"I am sorry, Merlin," he offered in a rare bout of sympathy, "I wish there was something to be done, but if the Queen does die tonight, you must carry on. You must help Arthur bring about the united lands of Albion."

The warlock fought the tears which threatened to fall but it was futile, and they slid down his cheeks as he did to the ground, sitting in the mud wearily. His hands covered his face and he cried into them, even as Kilgharrah flew off and the flames died out.

How could it all have gone so wrong?

* * *

Arthur squared his shoulders and steeled his heart as the dungeon's grates were opened to him. He dismissed the guards with a nod, sending them away so they would not hear the conversation that was about to unfold.

Morgana stood opposite him, dirtied but contemptuous.

"My dear brother," she greeted, her tone one of mockery, "You have come to see me?"

It pained him to see her this way, to know the hatred which dwelled in her heart. Yet, he would need to keep the exchange concise.

"I need your help," he stated simply, watching her raise a single eyebrow before chuckling like a mad woman.

"Your audacity knows no bounds, does it?" she said, "You throw me in a dungeon for over a year, you deprive me of the one thing that makes me who I am," she accused, rattling the bracelet which he had placed around her wrist, "whilst you shun and condemn all those of my kind, and you have the _nerve_ to ask for my help?"

He ignored her words, determined to keep only to what he had come to say. "Guinevere is wearing the crystal of Ganieda and - "

"Oh, I should have known it was her," Morgana cut through and, at his subsequent look of confusion, added, "Do you really think I have not sensed the crystal's magic?"

Truth be told, he hadn't thought of it at all.

"But tell me, brother," she went on, watching him with what seemed to be twisted pleasure, "how did the fool come by it? Please, tell me it was _you_ who gave it to her…that would simply be the sweetest thing."

He swallowed his temper and his tears, resolved to steer the conversation back to its original purpose. "I have come to ask you to help her," he said, "To…send a prayer to one of your sisters, so that they may guide her back to our world."

She feigned to be impressed by his knowledge of the crystal's ways. "Dear brother, how knowledgeable you are," she mocked, her expression turning scornful the next second. "But don't waste your breath."

She turned away from him then, seeming to deem the conversation over.

He inhaled deeply.

He knew what she desired. And he would let her have it.

"I will give you Camelot."


	27. The World of the Dead

The place she had found herself in was unlike any other she had ever seen.

It seemed both infinite and small, dark and bright. Her feet would move but no distance would be truly crossed. She could see but there were no torches and no sun, as nothing but some sort of thick, black fog surrounded her. Her hands were stretched out before her, but found no walls and the ground beneath her didn't feel like solid ground at all.

What trouble had she gotten herself into this time?

She had put on the necklace Odin had given her, that much she remembered. After that, she only remembered waking in this odd place.

Her heart beat erratically no matter how hard she tried to quell it, and fear gripped it no matter how brave she sought to be.

She had no notion of how much time had passed, and there was nothing to indicate any had passed at all. It was magic, that much she knew for certain. But she did not know what kind, and it frightened her. Magic could be a terrible, evil thing and she feared such kind of sorcery had befallen her now.

Guinevere looked about one more time, tried to get herself to focus. There had to be a way out, and there had to be something she could do.

She whirled in the spot, her eyes wandering through the unfathomable mist, until…

Her mad spinning stopped.

A woman stood before her now and she had a feeling she knew her from somewhere. Long brown hair, fair skin and eyes as blue as the skies themselves; she had definitely seen her somewhere before.

"Hello," the woman greeted and though her tone wasn't exactly friendly, she seemed to mean no harm.

It took Guinevere some time to find her voice. "Where am I?" she queried, forcing her voice to be steady.

"You are a step before the gates of the spirit world," the woman informed her, "Trapped in a maze, if you will. And you will need my help to get out of it."

A step before the _what_?

"T-the spirit world?" Guinevere parroted, confused and stunned.

"Yes," the woman ascertained calmly, "The crystal you have put around your neck has brought you here, but it was not made for women such as you, women of no magic. So, if you ever wish to return to _your_ world, you will need _me_."

"And who exactly _are_ you?" Guinevere questioned, "I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before."

"You may have," the woman conceded, "My name is Nimueh."

Guinevere grew silent at the revelation, words dying on her lips in shock. Nimueh, she had heard the name before. Arthur had told her of her, she had been the one Uther had come to for help in conceiving an heir. It had been her magic which had given Arthur life. And, as she thought it over further, Guinevere realised where she remembered her from. On the night Camelot had finally made peace with Mercia, she had seen her in the crowd; she was the sorceress who had poisoned Merlin.

"Why would you want to help me?" she inquired cautiously, unable to think of a reason for the Priestess's apparent kindness.

The latter pursed her lips. "It was not my wish, believe me," she said, "but I owe a favour to an old friend."

Still, Guinevere remained unconvinced of Nimueh's good intentions. Her wariness was plainly written on her face, and Nimueh seemed to grow annoyed.

"I _am_ your only hope," she said, "You can stay here until your body fades and then you will be taken to the spirit world _permanently_. I am offering you guidance so that you may see your dead before returning to the world of the living. But the choice is yours."

Guinevere swallowed. "See my dead?"

One corner of Nimueh's mouth pulled upwards. "If they wish to see you, of course."

There was silence for a time before the Priestess added, "If you do not wish to see anyone, I can guide you back to the gates of your world immediately. This is, however, a chance to see those you have lost, or those who would wish to speak with you but have long been dead."

The last portion of her sentence caught Guinevere's attention, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Nimueh smiled. "The spirits know what goes on in your world, Guinevere," she clarified, surprising the Queen by using her name, "and perhaps, some wish to talk to you. So, what will it be?" she questioned, "Your world or mine?"

Guinevere pondered her options; it would be safest to simply return to her own world but the proposal was simply too tempting. "Yours," she finally decided, prompting Nimueh to extend her arm.

"Take my hand," she instructed, "and I will guide you."

Guinevere obeyed and grasped Nimueh's hand, surprised at how material the touch felt, as though she were real.

She allowed herself to be pulled along, getting the sense that she was truly moving this time. The thickness around her seemed to condense before her eyes as well, forming tall walls and corners; it truly was a maze, then.

Some moments later, they emerged onto what seemed to be a vast plane. The peculiar sombre fog still floated about and Guinevere felt as though she were walking atop dense black clouds. In the distance, she spotted the most palpable edifice she had yet seen in this world. The gates were tall, so tall she could not see them ending, and so wide they were lost in the fog. And before them stood another woman, cloaked in black, her white hair showing slightly beneath her hood, and holding a staff.

"Who is she?" Guinevere wondered as they came to a halt.

"She is the Cailleach," Nimueh informed, "the gatekeeper to the spirit world."

Oh. Arthur had spoken of her, too.

"She will open the gates so that those who wish to see you may step out," Nimueh continued, making Guinevere frown in confusion.

"Will I not be entering the spirit world?"

"You are yet living, so may not truly enter the spirit world," the Priestess informed, "You shall meet your dead here where we stand. It is the space between the worlds; that of the living…and that of the dead."

Guinevere considered the words. "So, this is a sort of…bridge between the worlds?"

Nimueh smiled the faintest bit. "Yes, you could call it that," she allowed, watching intently as the Cailleach stepped aside, and the gates began to slowly open.

Guinevere held her breath as she waited, her stuttering inhales turning into a gasp as she glanced to the side and noticed the lone figure which stood in the distance.

Uther.

She instinctively recoiled, taking a step closer to Nimueh. The latter noticed her movement and, as she followed her line of sight, sighed.

"Do not worry," she reassured, "He cannot harm you."

"Why is he here?" Guinevere whispered; she would never want to see that man and she was certain he would not want to see her either. Not unless he wished to cause her harm.

"He roams this space alone," Nimueh said, her eyes turning cold as she proceeded, "He cannot return to your world because he is not living, but he cannot find rest amongst the spirits either. They are not forgiving; they torment and tear his soul apart," she informed, her lips beginning to twist into a smirk of satisfaction, "His spirit writhes in agony on the other side; it is the price for his sins, as he will not repent. So, he must stay here, in the space between the worlds. His spirit cannot find peace on the other side, so he is damned to spend eternity in the netherworld. He shall never find rest."

Guinevere shuddered at the cruelty of such a punishment; Uther's sins were unspeakable but it was still a cruel thing. She glanced at Nimueh; the Priestess was smiling now, seeming to derive great pleasure from seeing the man who had slaughtered her kind suffer eternally. Guinevere supposed she could not even fault her for it.

Uther simply stood there, unmoving and silent, alone.

Guinevere averted her eyes; it was not him she had come to see.

The gates were fully open now and from the darkness within, shapes began to emerge. The Queen held her breath, feeling her eyes begin to water as the shapes took form and approached her. Some, she did not recognise, but the two in the lead…oh, she knew them well.

"Gwen," her father spoke softly as he came to stand before her.

Tears which had brimmed her eyes spilled as she looked upon her late father; she had missed him so terribly.

Her eyes soon turned to the woman who stepped out from behind him. Guinevere had almost forgotten her face over the years, a face she had last seen as a young child, but she knew her.

"Mother," she whispered, beginning to sob at her gentle, loving smile.

"My dear child," her mother soothed, taking her face in her hands and wiping the tears away.

Guinevere soon found herself within her mother's arms, as her hands stroked her hair softly. She felt her father's own arms around her as well, and the gentle kiss he laid on the crown of her head.

She cried and sobbed, hugging them back tightly. They felt so real. Her parents; they were both here.

"We are so proud of you, Gwen," Tom told her, "Both you and your brother. So proud."

"More than we can say," her mother added, and Gwen squeezed her tightly, not wanting to let go.

She relished their comfort and warmth, feeling so safe and secure. She felt like a little girl again, kept from harm and cruelty by those who loved her most.

"My debt has been repaid, old friend," she heard Nimueh speak and looked over her mother's shoulder. The Priestess was talking to a tall, robust man, whose shoulder-length hair showed signs of greyness. He too felt familiar, though not like Nimueh had.

She was certain to have never seen his face before but there was something about him, about his expression and structure, which felt very familiar.

He nodded to acknowledge Nimueh's words, smiling faintly as he caught Gwen's gaze. She extracted herself from her parents' hold slowly, still holding one of their hands in each of her own as she addressed the man.

"It is you I owe this kindness to," she spoke, "Thank you."

"My son asked for my help," he said simply, "All the Priestesses had denied him," he added, giving Nimueh a sharp look, to which she rolled her eyes, "but I was owed a favour."

Gwen's head tipped to the side. "Who are you?"

His smile widened. "I am Balinor."

Gwen's own mouth pulled into a bright smile at the knowledge. "The Dragonlord," she said, "Your son has helped me before, as has Kilgharrah."

"My son is your friend."

"Yes, that's what the Great Dragon said too," she told him before her brow furrowed. "What I don't understand is _why_ he would help me so," she added, "I don't even know who he is, but…he always seems to know when I am in trouble. And he always helps."

Balinor was fully grinning now. "Perhaps he is closer than you know," he suggested, "He has _always _been your friend."

Her frown deepened at the cryptic statement. She made to speak again but the words lodged in her throat as everything seemed to finally fall into place.

All the little things he seemed to know before anyone could tell him, all the times he had saved them all with a skill that should be beyond his abilities.

The way he had let the dragon be free, but was still spared the beast's wrath.

The time he had only stared into Maerwynn's eyes but seemed to read her mind. The druid girl had told her of the way druids could communicate with other creatures of magic, with their minds alone.

How lenient he was to those who practiced sorcery, even before the truth of Uther's crimes had been revealed to him.

How happy he seemed at the possibility of lifting the ban on magic.

How the young warlock and last Dragonlord had known she would be travelling to Nemeth all those months ago, that she had been distressed following Arthur's departure and now, that she was trapped in the spirit world.

How he cared for her wellbeing.

She studied Balinor more carefully. If she were to erase the wrinkles of age from his skin, turn his eyes blue, trim his beard and shorten his hair, she would see her old friend looking back at her.

"Merlin."

It came out as an incredulous whisper. The idea was a thing of madness but she simply knew it to be the truth. Merlin was the young warlock. He was the last Dragonlord.

Merlin had magic.

She should have known.

There was silence as she tried to accept the full implications of this new truth. Her mother and father still held her hands tightly, and Balinor only smiled knowingly. His son's name seemed to invoke bitterness in Nimueh, but she too remained silent.

Finally, it was another voice entirely that broke the silence.

"Guinevere," she heard the unfamiliar voice call out to her and, lifting her eyes towards the woman who had spoken, realised who was addressing her, momentarily forgetting all about Merlin and his secret.

Much like with Balinor, she had never seen her before, but recognised someone very dear to her in her face. Pale skin, blonde hair and bright blue eyes; there was only one woman she could be.

"Queen Ygraine," Gwen stuttered, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. She was speaking to her husband's mother…her husband's _dead_ mother. What if Ygraine didn't approve of her? That would be bad. That would be very, very bad.

It seemed she needn't worry. Ygraine smiled, approaching her with kindness in her eyes.

"I just wanted to meet you," she said, "Speak to you. Such a beauty you are."

Gwen gulped slightly, still rather jittery. "Thank you, milady."

Ygraine's smile grew wider. "My son is lucky to have you," she commented, "As is Camelot."

Gwen's eyes widened but she accepted the compliment with a grin, feeling her mother squeeze her hand gently. She turned to her, noticing her proud smile.

"My daughter, Queen of Camelot," she remarked, "I cannot tell you how proud I am."

"Oi!" Tom protested teasingly, "She's my daughter too."

His wife rolled her eyes. "You can boast about Elyan being a Knight; _I_ will boast about my Guinevere being a Queen."

Gwen laughed at the words, finding that her parents' silliness warmed her heart.

"Guinevere," Ygraine spoke again, "could you do me a favour?"

"Anything, milady."

"Could you tell Arthur I am, and always will be, proud of him?" she asked, "He heard it from my own lips once, but I think it wise to remind him. He doubts himself so terribly at times."

Gwen smiled in understanding. "Of course, I will tell him."

"Could you also tell him not to resent my brothers?" Ygraine voiced another plea, more uncertain this time, "Tristan and Agravaine. I know they have both caused harm, and Agravaine the most, but…my death, it blackened their hearts. They were loving once, whilst I lived; both of them."

Her sad eyes turned to the side, lingering on Uther's form in the distance. "If he must blame someone, let him blame his father," she went on, "but do not let him hate Uther either. His father did love him."

Once again, Gwen acquiesced to the request, nodding her compliance before remembering something.

"Some years ago," she began, "Your brother Tristan was raised from the dead to kill Arthur."

Nimueh spoke up. "That was my doing. He was a wraith, a corpse given life with magic. And yes, he was meant to kill Arthur. If only Merlin hadn't gotten in the way…"

Her nearly petulant complaint would have been amusing, had it not been on such a grim subject.

"You were trying to kill his friend," Balinor pointed out, "Can you blame him for wanting to stop you?"

"Well, he killed _me_ in the end, didn't he?"

"Merlin killed you?" Gwen exclaimed incredulously, prompting Balinor to sigh.

"That is…a story too long to be told now," he said, clearing his throat as he gestured to the side, "There is someone else who wants to meet you, Guinevere."

Her eyes went to the man Balinor pointed to and him, she could not place. He was tall and strong, a warrior no doubt, but she could not assimilate his features to anyone she knew.

"Milady," he addressed her respectfully, taking a step closer, "You do not know me, but perhaps you have heard of me. My name is Gorlois."

Her jaw promptly dropped. Oh, she had most certainly heard of him. And it was most surprising that he wished to speak with her.

"I have heard of you," she said at length, "Quite a bit, actually."

"Good things, I hope?"

She smiled slightly. "Your honour is spoken of to this day."

He returned the smile but soon grew solemn. "Milady, I know this may very well be too much to ask of you," he began, "but I must try. It is about my daughter, my Morgana."

His gaze travelled to Uther before it returned to Guinevere. "I know she is not mine by blood, but she will always be my child," he went on, "I have watched her for so many years and it pains me more than I can say, to see what she has become. To see her feel such hatred and exercise such cruelty breaks my heart."

Guinevere nodded sadly, understanding his pain. "It breaks mine too," she told him, "I have known her to be so kind once."

Gorlois smiled wistfully as he proceeded, "I have raised her to be kind and compassionate. My child should never be so bitter, so hateful."

He sighed deeply. "I will understand if you refuse to grant me this, milady, but I would ask you to help her find her heart again," he made his request, "Beneath all that hatred, I know my Morgana still has one."

"I wish for the same," Guinevere assured, "I know it may not seem so, with the way we keep her locked in a dungeon but…"

She took a deep breath. "I have not forgotten her," she resumed with determination, "and our laws _are_ changing. It is my hope that, once she sees the change, her heart will soften."

Gorlois seemed to be holding back tears at her words, as a trace of fear marred his brow. "You would forgive her mistakes?"

Guinevere pursed her lips. "If she wishes to change…I think I would, yes."

His fear only seemed to deepen, and Guinevere could not quite comprehend it. "Milady, there are things you do not know," he said, "Things she has done. Once you learn of them…you may not feel quite so forgiving."

"What things?"

"There is no time for me to tell you now, but you will learn of them and…they are horrible things, milady. Once you know of them, will you still remember her?"

Guinevere frowned, not quite understanding his anxiety. "I will," she promised, "You have my word."

He sighed in relief. "Thank you, milady."

She didn't have the chance to ponder his evasive and veiled request as a disruption in the space's monochromatic setting caught her eye. The open gates were flooded with red now, and the distance grew brighter each moment.

Knights of Camelot, hundreds of them, lined the entrance to the spirit world.

"They have come to see their Queen," her mother said softly, but Gwen was too tongue-tied to respond.

She knew some of the men, had even cried over a few when they had not returned home or had been killed by all the dangers which had plagued the kingdom. Others were unfamiliar but they still stood at the gates, bowing their heads in respect to their Queen.

Her heart filled with gratitude, and tears returned to her eyes as she noticed Delbert in the first row. He seemed so tiny amongst the tall and strong men, but he was smiling brightly, giving her a small wave. She chuckled through her tears as she looked on her late friend, the boy who had been too courageous for his own good.

The laughter died in her throat as the men parted and another figure emerged, beginning to advance towards her. She let go of her parents' hands as she too stepped forward, closer to him.

He looked exactly as she liked to remember him, with kind eyes and a charming smile, his red cloak draped about his shoulders. When he had returned after having been thought dead, she had sensed a darkness which clouded his infinitely good heart. He had been kind to her, like always, but his eyes had not been filled with the warmth she had grown used to and his smile had not been genuine. It had troubled her, but she knew it was because of what he had been through on the Isle of the Blessed and she knew the daunting experience had made him act the way he had; it had all been her fault. The knowledge was a terrible thing; it haunted her conscience, to know that she had ruined a good heart and sent the most honourable of men to his grave.

She could not speak as he was finally before her, gently taking her hand and brushing lips against her knuckles.

"Milady."

A small smile formed on her lips and she was reminded of the day, so very, very long ago, when she had been a bumbling girl with a measuring tape and he a boy with dreams of becoming a Knight; he had kissed her hand too then, had called her a lady. And she had denied it, just as he had denied being a Knight yet.

He seemed to be sharing her memories, for he added, "There is no way for you to deny it _now_."

She choked on her chuckle and it turned into a sob as she leapt forward, bringing her arms around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly and he responded in kind, running his hands soothingly over her back.

Her dear Lancelot.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, her voice faltering, "for everything. I am so sorry, Lancelot."

"You have nothing to feel sorry for," he said with conviction as he pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders, "You are not to blame for any of it."

Still, her tears would not cease. "I asked you to protect Arthur, and then I - "

"Gwen," he interrupted her stuttering apology with a gentle smile, "I gave my life for his willingly and for _you_, I would have died a thousand times over."

She pressed her lips together to stifle her sobs, her face contorting in grief. His devotion to her had been his downfall, and it pained her horribly.

"Do not feel sorry, or guilty, for what happened on the Isle of the Blessed," he continued, "And as for what happened when I returned, the fault does not lie with you. It never has."

His words confused her, and he sighed deeply before proceeding. "A grave injustice has been done to you, Gwen," he told her sadly, "To us both."

He waited a moment, rubbing her shaking shoulders with tenderness. "Do you remember the bracelet I gave you?" he queried, confusing her even further.

Swallowing tightly, she nodded. "You said it was a token of good fortune…"

Lancelot's eyes went to the ground for a moment and when they returned to hers, they shone with regret. "I wish it had truly been that," he said quietly, "but it was not. We do not have much time, so I cannot tell you everything now, but you must find that bracelet. Do you know where it is?"

Unable to find any words to respond with, she simply nodded again.

His smile returned, wider now. "Find it, and give to Gaius and Merlin," he instructed further, "They will tell you what you need to know, they will understand what the bracelet was for," he ascertained, turning wistful as he added, "Then ask them of what was done to me. They will know that too."

The instructions made a terrible feeling grip her heart, for she knew they implied something dreadful had been set into motion in the days preceding the first time she and Arthur sought to get married. Lancelot would not indulge her desire for a hundred more clarifications, but there was one thing she had to know for certain.

"Morgana?" she inquired simply, and he nodded, confirming her suspicions. Morgana had done something to them, and Guinevere had an idea as to what it was.

Her eyes went over her shoulder and to Gorlois, who had his head bowed in shame for his daughter's sins. Whether her assumptions proved true or not, she had given him her word not to forget Morgana, and she would honour it.

She turned back to Lancelot, her lips pulling into a small smile as she brought her hands to his cheeks. "Oh, my Lancelot," she sighed sadly, "We've all misjudged you so terribly, haven't we?"

"You were the one who suffered, Gwen, not me" he said, "I do not care what is said of me, but no one should think all these things of _you_."

Her smile grew wider as ran her thumb over his cheek with affection, one of her hands rising to his temple to ruffle his hair gently. Her brave Knight, always trying to spare her from pain, always putting her needs before his own.

"I hope you will always remember me fondly," he told her quietly, making her laugh lightly.

"There is no other way to remember you, Lancelot," she assured, moving to hug him once more. He embraced her gladly, wrapping his arms about her.

They stood this way for a time, before Nimueh's voice broke through the silence. "You don't have much time," she told Guinevere, "We must go now. Say your goodbyes, and we shall be on our way."

Guinevere moved away from Lancelot, spinning around as her eyes widened. "Already?" she queried, growing anxious, "It's been but a few moments!"

"Time does not flow the same way here as it does in your world," Nimueh retorted calmly, "If we do not go now, you will die."

Guinevere shook her head. "No, I…I don't want to go, not yet."

"You must if you wish to live," the Priestess countered flatly. Personally, she could not care less if Arthur's Queen lived or died, but she had made a promise to Balinor.

Guinevere still refused to accept this, as new tears began to gather in her eyes. She wanted more time, just a little more.

"Go," Lancelot urged, "You can't linger here."

"Gwen," her mother moved forward, grasping her hands, "you must go."

When her daughter began crying more strongly, she put her arms around her, hugging tightly.

"We aren't going anywhere," Tom added as he joined the women, enveloping them both in his arms.

"I will see you again?" Gwen asked quietly and fearfully, wishing more than anything for them not to leave her again.

"One day," her mother promised wistfully.

"Tell your brother to keep out of trouble," Tom said, "And to continue being a fine Knight."

"And you," her mother supplied, "you just keep following your heart. You have such a beautiful one, sweetheart."

Gwen bit down on her lip to keep herself from sobbing loudly, swallowing her cries of sorrow down. She had made them proud; her parents, Lancelot and the friends she had lost, she had made them proud.

"We must go," Nimueh prompted again, more impatiently this time.

The reminder made her parents pull away, each giving her one last kiss on the forehead for the journey.

She cherished the loving gesture, wiping at her tears before squaring her shoulders. She wished to stay, but she was needed back in her world; she had made a promise to Arthur. She could not leave him alone.

Ygraine and Gorlois nodded their farewell, while Balinor voiced a request of his own, "Tell my son I said 'hello'…tell him to pass my greetings on to Kilgharrah, to Hunith and to Gaius, my old friend…tell him I miss them all."

Guinevere gladly acquiesced to the request, as Nimueh stood before her, seemingly annoyed. "Now," she commanded her to move it along, as time was running out.

Gwen followed her as she moved back towards the maze, glancing one last time over her shoulder at those she was leaving behind. She gave them all one final smile; when her time should truly come, they would still be there.

She cast a glance at Uther too and, much like she had when tending to him whilst he still lived, felt pity for the man whose arrogance and ignorance had brought him down. His cruelty had come at a terrible price.

Nimueh took her hand, having apparently grown too tired of her stalling. She allowed for the Priestess to pull her along, keeping up with her hasty strides.

It was time to go home.

* * *

**A/N: I know that, given the very ominous tone of the previous chapter, this one can feel rather anticlimactic - in my defense, suspense/prolonged drama is not my strong suit - but this was _the_ plot I actually built this entire story around. More specifically, the Gwen/Lancelot conversation in the spirit world. That talk was basically my original idea that would not leave me be and made me write this monster of a story. Yes, I did build an entire, complicated Arwen story around a Gwen/Lancelot moment. I've given up trying to figure out how my brain works a long time ago. **

**Anyway, I hope you were not too disappointed by this. Also, the next update focuses back on happenings in Camelot. **


	28. The Moment of Awakening

_I will give you Camelot._

The words hung in the air around them, making Morgana halt in her tracks halfway to the stone bench she spent most of her time sitting on.

She turned around slowly, a certain curiosity shining in her cold eyes.

Arthur forced himself to keep going. "If you help her," he spoke again, "I will give you the kingdom. My Knights will pledge allegiance to you, Guinevere and I will leave and I will return your magic to you. The throne will be yours, you have my word."

He held his breath as he watched her process his offer, her head tilting to the side slightly as she observed him with what seemed to be a touch of incredulity. "You would give up your kingdom," she queried after a moment, "for a woman?"

His lips pressed together as tears began gathering in his eyes. He loved Camelot more than he could say, but Guinevere was dying. He could not lose her, even if this was the price he had to pay. "You know I would," he said, cursing the way his voice wavered, "for Guinevere. You've always known, Morgana."

She supposed that was true. Once, she had seen him beg Uther to spare his beloved servant, had watched as he relinquished his entitlement to the throne without a second thought. So devoted he was to her; even after he believed she had betrayed him with another man, he had still taken her back, had stained the crown by putting it on _her_ head.

He was such a weakling, her darling brother. His weak heart commanded him and he was as a pup, desperately chasing the hem of Gwen's skirts wherever she went. What kind of fool would give his kingdom to his worst enemy for the love of one woman, a servant no less? And yet, the people of Camelot bent over backwards to please and pledge loyalty to such a man. Fools, all of them. She surmised that, when she did take the throne, she would have nothing but complete idiots as subjects.

Still, that time would not be now.

"My dear brother," she spoke and Arthur felt himself shiver at the coldness of her tone, "I think I will prefer to watch you suffer."

Words failed him. She could not deny him, she was his last hope.

"Morgana, please - "

"Don't beg," she interrupted, relishing the way his eyes watered while his lips quivered, "You're embarrassing yourself."

He didn't care if he humiliated himself in front of her or the entirety of Camelot as long as she helped him.

"I will give you whatever you want!" he raised his voice desperately, "_Anything_ you want! And…if you want me to crawl on my knees before you for the whole kingdom to see, I will!"

Her lips twisted into a smirk of pure pleasure.

"Oh, I will get you to kneel before me," she vowed, "but not like this. And when I do take my crown, it will be off your darling wife's cold corpse."

Her jaded eyes sparked with life as she watched him shut his eyes against her words, shake his head in agony. How foolish her brother had been, to keep all of his heart in one woman's hold. The tall and mighty King Arthur, who had built his entire world around a serving girl.

He would know pain now, when he stood helpless as he watched everything he loved die. He would know her pain.

"Morgana," he tried again, grounding his teeth to keep his tears from falling, "I will give you anything you wish for, _anything._"

"What I wish for," she retorted, "is to see your beloved Guinevere die and _you_ drown in your own misery. And it is exactly what I shall have."

He spoke no further, his breathing growing uneven.

"Go now, dear brother, hold your wife's hand in her final moments," she told him, smiling widely as she added, "It won't be long now."

Morgana watched him turn on his heel and exit the dungeon, heard him smash something furiously as he walked further away.

She took a deep, satisfied breath as she seated herself atop the cold stone. Once Gwen drew her final breath, Arthur would be a broken man. She had thought Uther's death would break him completely but she had been wrong then. Now, however, she was certain of the outcome. Arthur would go mad, turn into a most terrible King and the kingdom would begin to fall apart. And then, all she would need was one weak-minded guard to manipulate into releasing her from this godforsaken cell. She would take Arthur's life herself and the spell which bound her powers would be broken. Her magic would be returned to her and she would take the throne as the rightful Queen of Camelot, with her enemies dead and buried.

It would take her longer this way than if she had accepted Arthur's offer but she was, after all, a very patient woman.

She would have her revenge.

* * *

Arthur walked back to the royal chambers numbly, barely even registering the journey.

He found Elyan inside, by Guinevere's bed, speaking words of encouragement and pleas of return he knew she could not hear.

The Knight's eyes rose as he spotted the King. He had not asked, but he knew Arthur had gone to Morgana. Elyan also knew what the proffered deal would be but he had not dwelled on the consequences, prepared to endure whichever hardships necessary if it meant saving his sister.

He felt his breath falter as he looked at Arthur. The latter's eyes seemed empty and defeated, red from prickling tears.

Morgana had denied him.

Elyan nodded to the unspoken confirmation, rising to unsteady feet. His sister, the only family he had left in the world, would not survive the night. She had grown so cold, so horrifyingly cold, and he knew it would only be moments now. He also knew Arthur would want to spend them with her; not that he thought himself capable of watching her draw her last breath anyway. He could not bear it.

Swallowing his sorrow, he pressed one last kiss of farewell upon her forehead.

He exchanged no words with Arthur on his way out, as neither he nor the King were in condition to utter any. As soon as he closed the doors behind him, Elyan sank to the floor, his back against the stone wall, as he buried his face in his hands.

Inside the chambers, Arthur's legs only carried him up to the side of the bed. He dropped to his knees there, his heart almost too heavy to keep beating.

He had failed. And he would lose her.

All the tears which he had tried to restrain spilled over and down his cheeks, a sob building in his throat. He struggled to swallow it down but it could not be tamed and was soon joined by more wails of grief.

His Guinevere would die and there was nothing he could do about it.

Gasping for breath, he leaned over, his shaking hands going about her waist. He hugged her tightly as his head rested atop her belly, soaking her gown with his tears.

Her breathing was slow and shallow and he knew that soon, it would cease altogether. Her faint heartbeats echoed beneath his ear and he dreaded the moment when he would no longer be able to hear any. He would not bear it and yet, he would not let go, only holding her closer to him as though it would keep her from fading away.

His sobs grew louder as he fisted the back of her gown in his hands, pressing his forehead against her belly. It pained him so he could hardly breathe, to know he would lose her. His Guinevere.

"Please don't leave me," he begged, knowing all the while it was for naught. She would slip through his fingers as if she were made of water and no matter how tightly or desperately he clung onto her, she would leave him.

* * *

Merlin found Elyan seated on the floor in front of the royal chambers. He had spent almost an hour crying alone in the cold before venturing back to the castle, to have Gaius inform him that Arthur had learned the truth and had undoubtedly sought Morgana out.

Dreading what could have happened, the warlock had gone in search of Arthur, only to find the Queen's brother silently crying in the corridor.

The Knight raised his eyes to Merlin's, looking horribly grieved. "All is lost, Merlin," he whispered brokenly, "Arthur, he tried but…Morgana wouldn't…she denied him help."

Merlin felt a momentary sense of relief and was disgusted with himself for it; Gwen was certain to die and he should not feel relieved that the last, desperate attempt to save her had failed.

Wearily, he slid to the ground next to Elyan.

"Arthur is with her," the latter said, "I…I don't think she has much time now."

Merlin nodded though he could not find any words of comfort for his friend, settling for simply clasping his shoulder in support. The gesture only seemed to intensify Elyan's tears and Merlin's own ones joined them, sliding down his cheeks. He felt as though they would never dry after this night; Guinevere's death would have terrible consequences and he doubted anyone of them would stop shedding tears for a long time to come.

Gaius appeared at their side, approaching them with slow steps and making Elyan's lip curl in anger.

"I know what you must think of me, Elyan," the physician spoke solemnly, "but Gwen has always been very dear to me."

The Knight's contempt would not recede but he voiced no desire for Gaius to move away, so the physician settled his tired body atop the bench facing the doors. The thought of the Queen's death pained him too, and the decision to forsake her for the good of Camelot had not been one made lightly. Few had been happier than him to see the girl he had watched grow wear the crown and her love for Arthur prevail against all odds.

As time passed, more people filled the hallway, though no one breathed a single word. Gwaine and Percival stood stoically against the wall, though a few quiet sniffles from Gwaine could be heard every now and then. Kay was at the hallway's end, along with more Knights, head bowed in a hopeless prayer. The Queen's three maids sobbed quietly in the corner, hugging one another in their grief. The courtyard below was still littered with small lights, and the candles burned restlessly in the night.

No one dared speak, too afraid to see the doors open and learn that the Queen was dead.

* * *

Guinevere fought to gain clarity as the bright light faded. Nimueh had led her to the gates of her own world, through which a strong light had blinded her. She had stepped inside, to find herself back in the world of the living.

She felt weak and drained, and the sounds around her seemed muffled.

Her mind cleared after some moments, and she became increasingly aware of a heavy weight atop her belly and a pair of hands grasping at the material of her dress. Her hearing sharpened and wails of sorrow filled her ears, little hiccups of grief and pleas not to be left alone whispered against her stomach.

She forced her eyes to open, recognising the ceiling of the royal chambers as her vision focused. Casting her gaze downwards, she saw her husband's head pressed against her whilst he sobbed. She was momentarily stunned.

She had seen him cry once, for his late father, but this sight was nothing like it. He was bawling as a small child and it pained her to witness it; she never wanted to see him like this.

With her throat too dry to speak, she put a great deal of effort into raising her hand, letting it rest sloppily against his shoulder.

The sobs suddenly stopped as he stilled, sniffling while he slowly raised his head.

Guinevere did her best to offer him a smile of reassurance, her heart breaking at the sight of his fearful eyes and tear-stained face.

He stared at her for a moment, his lip trembling, unsure of whether his eyes were deceiving him or not. She moved her fingers, her hold on his shoulder rather feeble, and he suddenly grinned through his tears.

"Guinevere," he exhaled in relief as he clumsily scrambled to his feet, before sitting on the mattress. His arms went under hers and he pulled her to him, hugging her close. She felt his fingers in her hair and his lips on her forehead and temple, along with mumbled words which made no sense to her ears.

Her strength seemed to be gone but she hugged him back as well as she could, trying to soothe him. She couldn't quite understand the amount of despair she had seen in his eyes, but she was eager to appease his anxiety nevertheless. He had seemed so broken.

He pulled away a fraction, keeping her face in his hands as his eyes went over her, needlessly checking for injuries. His movements seemed rather frenzied and uncoordinated, and Guinevere had no time to react in any way as he pressed his lips to hers frantically. She felt the saltiness of his tears on her tongue and their wetness on her cheek as he leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing still far from controlled.

"They said you wouldn't wake, the idiots," he babbled, "Stupid idiots, all of them."

She frowned but he still gave her no chance to make a single sound as he looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Elyan!"

If she had the strength, she would have flinched at the loudness.

Still, the volume of his voice was nothing compared to the commotion that ensued.

The doors were pushed open, hitting the walls loudly, as what appeared to be half of Camelot barged inside.

Her brother and Merlin were in the lead, both running inside, but stopping dead in their tracks as they spotted her. Behind them, everyone else stilled as well, seemingly stunned beyond belief to see her alive.

Her frown deepened. How long had she been unconscious for, exactly? Before she had stepped through the gates, Nimueh had told her it could not have been more than one day. Everyone seemed as weary as if they had not slept in days and as though they had expected her to die, but Merlin had to have known she would return, surely? Balinor had told her his son had asked him for help and, while she knew Merlin couldn't exactly tell Arthur _how_ he knew she would be given help, she was certain he was more than capable of coming up with a convincing enough lie. He was, after all, the expert on the matter.

Still, he seemed just as shocked as everyone else to see her awake. Maybe he hadn't known, then.

Ah.

That explained a lot.

"Gwen!" Elyan exclaimed after some moments, having apparently recovered from his shock. He was at her side immediately, meaning to hug her but found that Arthur was in the way. It left him to twitch about oddly, torn between shooing the King away and remaining respectful. Arthur seemed to have no intention of moving as much as inch, and Elyan had to settle for simply patting his sister's head at an awkward angle. She would have laughed, but was stopped by the emotion in his voice as he spoke, "I'm so happy you're alive. We thought…we…I'm so happy you're here."

She made to speak, but only managed to produce a faint croak. God, her throat was as dry as a desert.

Arthur seemed to understand her predicament and ordered some water be brought to her.

About ten people rushed to obey, resulting in a rather glorious mess of thudding and clanking around the pitcher which lay upon the table. Most of the water ended up on either the floor or the people's clothing, but a full goblet was still somehow brought to Arthur's awaiting hand. He pressed the goblet to her lips, holding it for her as she drank greedily. Who knew a trip to the spirit would make one develop such a mighty thirst?

As she finished the cup off, her eyes wandered to the window, making her frown again as she noticed the night was bathed in a yellowish glow. Elyan followed her line of sight, smiling proudly as he explained, "The people have not broken vigil once since they learned you were ill."

Her eyes widened. "You let them stay out in the cold?" she shrieked, her voice shriller than usual.

Elyan stared at her blankly. "_That_ is your concern right now?" he deadpanned, though he supposed he should have expected the first words coming out of his sister's mouth after _she_ had nearly died to be about _others'_ wellbeing.

"They will all fall ill, it's freezing outside," she chastised, turning to the other Knights in the room, "Tell everyone to go back inside, get them warm yourselves if you have to."

The men looked bewildered, some scratching their heads in confusion, but all complied nonetheless as they made their exit. Gwaine and Percival lingered behind, obviously wishing to say something more. Sighing, she gave them a smile.

"I'm fine," she assured, "Go now."

They grinned back at her before obeying, bowing needlessly before going out of sight. Her expression softened as she watched them go; they had all been so worried about her, bless them. It struck her as odd that Leon wasn't with them, but she didn't think much of it.

She turned her eyes to her three maidservants next, who all stood crying in relief.

"You should get some rest," she told them kindly and, as she knew they would protest, added, "I will not be requiring your services tonight. Please, you look so tired; get some sleep."

The women thanked her, curtseying before they too disappeared, shutting the doors behind them. She made to speak again but her words were cut short as she noticed Arthur's expression. He was staring at her and his previous sense of relief seemed to have faded, leaving him to look just about ready to break once more.

It brought her nothing but sadness to see him in such a way, and as some strength seemed to have returned to her limbs, she raised her hand to thread softly through his hair. His eyes went downwards and she knew it was because he was doing his best to keep his emotions from her. Sometimes, it annoyed her when he did that; he was a strong and proud man, and with a father like Uther, it was no wonder he perceived tears as a sign of weakness. Still, it was hardly healthy to deny himself the opportunity to give his heart's sufferings some release. It was also rather pointless in this situation, seeing as her dress was already all but sodden from his tears.

"Milady," Gaius' voice broke through her thoughts, "please do not take this the wrong way, but how are you alive?"

Arthur's jaw clenched now, and he seemed to turn angry in an instant. "It seems you were wrong, Gaius," he hissed through gritted teeth and Guinevere was taken aback by the animosity in his tone, "Give me one more reason to hang you, just one."

She gasped, aghast. "Why on Earth would you say such a thing?" she questioned disbelievingly, positively stunned to hear him utter such words. He offered no reply so she brought her eyes to the physician, whose shoulders were slumped in shame.

"I have lied to the King," he confessed, "about how long your body could bear the crystal's power for."

Her eyes narrowed; Gaius would never wish her harm, she was certain of that. "Why would you lie about that?" she queried suspiciously, her eyes turning to Arthur. He seemed as though he was about to blurt something out but bit his tongue before the words could leave his mouth, and looked rather contrite himself. "It doesn't matter," he told her instead, dropping an impulsive kiss to her hands as he brought them to his lips, "You're here now, so it doesn't matter."

She was far from convinced but decided to leave the subject for a later time. Instead of enquiring over Gaius' reasons for lying, she chose to answer his previous question instead.

"I was in the maze before the spirit world," she said, "and there, I was greeted by a High Priestess. Nimueh."

All four men's jaws dropped. She sighed as she continued, "Once again, I have the…uh…_young warlock_ to thank for my safety," she said as she looked directly at Merlin, unnerving him slightly.

The way she was looking at him…he had a feeling she _knew_.

"Apparently, all the Priestesses had denied him," she proceeded, "but his father heard his call for help, and Nimueh owed Balinor a favour."

Her gaze remained steadily on Merlin's, making him gulp.

"I should like to speak with this young warlock myself, too," she went on, keeping her expression carefully impassive, "And ask him to explain a few things for me."

Merlin nearly bolted for the door in a fit of blind panic.

She _most definitely_ knew.

Guinevere almost laughed at the way he began to squirm, the poor thing.

Gaius seemed to be aware of her recent discovery as well, growing somewhat jittery himself. Meanwhile, Arthur and Elyan only remained blissfully confused.

Now that the most basic questions had been answered, it was time to go. She had fought her urge to run to the dungeons immediately, had staved it off for as long as she could. She could wait no longer.

She sighed, moving her legs a bit, testing their strength. They still felt as heavy as lead, but she supposed they would just have to endure her weight. Lancelot had told her what to do, and she could not wait a moment longer to carry out the instructions. She had to know.

"Now, if you would excuse me," she spoke again, shifting on the bed, "I must go to the dungeons."

Her statement was met with a chorus of incredulous exclamations and four pairs of hands attempting to keep her from getting to her feet.

"Dungeons? Why would you need to go there?"

"Milady, please, you must rest."

"Are you mad?"

"Gwen, you're too weak to leave the bed."

She felt herself grow annoyed as they all kept blabbering about. She needed to know. Lancelot would never lie to her, and the awful feeling his words had caused to settle in her heart would not give her peace. She could not wait a minute longer, she had to know.

"I am not a mad woman, I have a very good reason for going there," she interrupted their jumbled speeches, using her hands to prop herself up on the bed, moving to throw the entangled covers off her legs. Arthur's hands immediately covered her own, stilling her movements.

"Guinevere, it can surely wait until morning at least," he tried to reason with her, only managing to irritate her further. They didn't understand, that bracelet _had_ to be found and she _had_ to know if her suspicions were true or not. If she was not a mad woman now, she would surely become one if they would not just let her go down to the blasted dungeons!

"No, it cannot," she retorted, struggling against his restraining hands though, admittedly, rather feebly.

"Guinevere…"

"I want to go _now_!" she raised her voice, hurting her throat by straining it. She coughed slightly against the unpleasant ache, sighing as she quieted down, closing her eyes for a moment.

She supposed she did sound just a bit mad.

"Alright, alright, we'll go," Arthur said quickly, changing course in an instant. "Don't be upset," he pleaded, kissing her forehead to soothe her.

She sighed deeply to compose herself; she should not have acted this petulantly when they were all concerned about her. She would need to keep herself calm and levelled from now on; after all, if her suspicions did prove true, she could not imagine Arthur reacting to them kindly, especially in the state he was in. She almost felt guilty for being so impatient.

Arthur had already pushed the covers away, carefully assisting her into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Merlin was by his side instantly, holding her shoes. She had to smile when Arthur took it upon himself to place them on her feet.

Once that task was accomplished, he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her along as rose from his kneeling stance. Her legs could barely hold her but he supported her weight, and she took a moment to lean against him, her arms going around his waist. Another kiss to her temple followed, before he rested his cheek against it.

"Why do you need to go to the dungeons?" he asked quietly, wishing she would reconsider her baffling request. He wanted her to rest and recover, but he could also not deny her a single thing.

She held him tighter as she replied lowly, "There is something there that I must find."

"What is it that you need to find?"

She bit her lip. "I will tell you when I find it…_if_ I find it."

The words made him frown. He couldn't quite understand her need for secrecy. "Why don't you just tell me now?"

He felt her sigh deeply against him. "You wouldn't believe me," she said sadly, truly confusing him now.

"I would believe anything you say."

"Not this," she told him resignedly, knowing it to be the truth. He did trust her, but even with his faith, she would only sound as an adulteress desperately trying to excuse her sins to his ears. To anyone's ears, really.

She pulled away, noticing the hurt in his expression. She smiled faintly to reassure him. "Just take me to the dungeons."

He complied, securing a thick, warm cloak over her shoulders before moving to hold her at the waist, allowing her to use him as support whilst they walked to the dungeons. She asked for Merlin and Gaius to come along as well, much to their surprise, and Elyan's presence was, in his own terms, non-negotiable.

The procession to the castle's lowest levels was slow, not only hindered by Guinevere's diminished strength but also by Knights, courtiers and servants, who would stop them every now and then to express their joy at seeing her awake. She listened to their words politely and gave them tight smiles, doing her best to quell her impatience.

She had to find that bracelet.

* * *

**A/N: 140.000 words later, I am finally getting to the reason anyone even reads/writes banishment-centric fics in the first place. There's being slow, and then there's me. **

**Anyway, I would just like to take a moment to assure you that all the issues brought up in the spirit world will be resolved, but I am tackling them one at a time. Because imagine the mess otherwise. **

**That said, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter :)**


	29. The Secrets of Wedding's Eve

**A/N: So...another nearly 8.000 words long chapter. I tried to find another place to break it, but it just seemed there was no other place to break it, so I didn't break it. And for the record, that sentence totally makes sense in my head.**

**Anyway, a few things first. I will definitely address everything that was said in the spirit world, but I'm trying to pace it and take it on gradually, because the alternative would be an ugly, jumbled mess. **

**Now, about Morgana, and I forgot to add this in the note for the previous chapter. Quite a few of you mentioned Gorlois' request to Guinevere and how it was unfair. Some of you were also guest reviewers and I couldn't respond in person, so I'll say it here. One of the guests really phrased the gist of it the best, which is "If Uther gets to howl in the sprint world because of his ignorance and arrogance why not Morgana?". Well, that's kind of precisely the point, and it will be brought up later on in the story. Let's face it, Morgana is, in that way, Uther 2.0 and odds are, she'll wind up just as damned as he did. Gorlois considers her his child and it's exactly what he wants to avoid. This story does include - what I keep calling - a semi-accomplished redemption arc for Morgana, so there will be more on her in the following chapters. I apologise in advance to those who may very much dislike her character and find themselves annoyed by her increased presence. **

**Anyway, bracelet reveal time!**

* * *

It felt like hours before they finally reached the long row of cells, and Arthur immediately wrapped the cloak around Guinevere's form more firmly. The dungeons were colder than the rest of the castle, even with the lit torches guards would crowd around, seeking to harvest even a fraction of their warmth.

The long walk had been instructive for the Queen, as all four men had informed her of the details pertaining to the crystal's workings, details she had not known of previously. It also explained why they had been so certain she would not wake.

The crystal itself had been removed from her neck, and while Arthur insisted it be destroyed immediately, Guinevere had forbidden it, giving it to Gaius for safekeeping. The physician still seemed to be far from returned to Arthur and Elyan's good graces, but Guinevere was certain his reasons for lying had been brought on by desperation. She also had strong suspicions as to why he would grow so desperate, but found herself too preoccupied by thoughts of the bracelet to be concerned with them at the moment.

She also refused to give the men a specific account of her encounters in the spirit world; now was not the time to get into such details. She would tell them everything, of course, but later. Well, there was one thing she was determined _not_ to mention, to Arthur at least; she would not tell him of what had become of his father's spirit. No matter his sins, Arthur had loved Uther and to learn what fate had befallen his father would grieve him greatly.

The party of five paused at the entrance, surprising the few guards on duty. They bowed and greeted in confusion, but no one really paid them any attention.

Guinevere's eyes roamed the place, as she tried to remember which cell she had been thrown in that night. She steered Arthur in its direction when she recognised it, pleased to see it was not occupied.

Elyan pulled the unlocked door open and, before either he or the King could quite comprehend it, Guinevere disentangled herself from Arthur's hold, pulling Gaius and Merlin with her. Her brother and husband stood at the entrance, bewildered as they watched Guinevere lower herself to the ground in the corner, and Gaius and Merlin follow her example as they too brought their knees to the hay-covered stone.

No one spoke as Guinevere's hands searched through the hay and dirt frantically; her eyes were somewhat mad as they flittered over the corner and a sob of disappointment was about to leave her throat when she finally spotted it, glinting faintly under a pile of hay to the side. She reached for it with an exhale of relief, her hands shaking slightly as she grasped it. She would learn the truth now.

Her eyes turned to the two kneeling men, as the bracelet rested in the palm of her hand.

She took a deep breath before speaking. "When he returned, Lancelot gifted me with this bracelet," she informed, avoiding to look at Arthur and focusing her gaze solely on Merlin and Gaius, "He had said it was a token of good fortune then, but I met him again in the spirit world and he told me it was not what it seemed. He said Morgana was involved and he said the two of you would understand what it was for."

Her implied inquiry should have been directed at both men, but her eyes rested steadily on Merlin's alone, watching as his mouth parted slightly in surprise and his breathing falter.

He could feel it, the faint imprint of magic which emanated from the bracelet. Though the charm no longer held, the warlock was certain it had, at one point, been enchanted. He could not help the tears that filled his eyes as he realised what this meant.

He could not find the words for Gwen either but her eyes still demanded answers, and he could only nod before his own gaze dropped to the ground.

Silence reigned for quite some time, until Elyan prompted impatiently, "Someone explain, please."

It was Gaius who spoke, his sad eyes going to the Queen. "This bracelet bears clear marks of having been once enchanted," he said, "And, given whom it was from and what happened after it was presented to the Queen, I am certain Morgana had charmed it with a love spell. We all owe the Queen a great apology."

Guinevere's eyes drifted shut as a long breath passed her lips; she had been right. It all made so much more sense now; she could not quite understand it before, her actions that night. Or the way the kiss felt somehow different from when she kissed Arthur, how the impulsion to run to Lancelot intricately differed from the one she felt when driven by genuine love. She had been enchanted.

Tears of both relief and anger burned behind her eyelids but she forced them away; she would need to be strong for Arthur now. He would not react to the news well.

Her eyes slowly opened and went to him, where he stood frozen at the entrance to the cell.

His expression was blank for a moment, but she could see the realisation dawn in his eyes, could feel he was starting to understand the implications. He began shaking his head slowly, refusing to accept it, but the vines of truth gripped his mind and pierced his heart, and he had to surrender.

He had banished, insulted, grieved and nearly killed an innocent woman.

Guinevere had never betrayed him, of course she hadn't.

Memories of that night danced before his eyes and they were so painfully clear, the tears which should have never marred her cheeks and the desperate words she should have never been forced to speak.

_I couldn't stop myself, I don't know why!_

He could not bear to remember the words now, but they refused to leave him be and they haunted his mind, forced the tears to his eyes.

The confined space before him suddenly made him sick. He had thrown Guinevere - his sweet, gentle Guinevere - into this very cell that night, had then allowed for her to be forced to her knees as everyone watched, to be condemned for a sin her kind heart could never be capable of. He had looked on her with disdain as she pleaded for him to understand, to see he was the only man she loved.

And then he had forced her from her home, had made her hurt in ways she never deserved.

He felt as though the guilt and shame alone could burn him alive and he had to look away, unable to meet her eyes for another moment. Even now, she regarded him with kindness and understanding and he could not bear it.

Guinevere watched him calmly, though with wariness in her heart. He seemed very distressed, as she had imagined he would be, and she knew how his temper could flare on such occasions. She remained cautiously silent, as there was no telling what he would do next.

His expression seemed to change suddenly, his jaw tightening and his mouth twisting in anger. He moved away the next moment, pushing Elyan out of his way as he strode further down the row of cells, yelling for the guards to give him a sword.

She sighed wearily, using the wall as support to rise to her feet. She dusted off her skirts the best she could, still clutching the bracelet in one hand. Her feet moved slowly and unsteadily, and while Merlin was offering her assistance, she declined it, already walking past him.

Momentarily pausing at the entrance, she took a glance at her brother. He appeared to be speechless, his mouth opening and closing without any words actually slipping past his tongue. She nodded in understanding, squeezing his arm gently before she too moved further down the corridor, using the wall every now and then to ease her movements.

Even if she hadn't already known where Arthur had gone to, his shouts would have given him away.

Morgana was broken out of her thoughts as the cell's bars rattled for the second time that evening, and her brother appeared before her once more. He was the image of wild fury now, with burning tears of rage in his eyes as he held a sword tightly, ready to brandish it at any second.

"I don't care what our father has done," he yelled, "I don't care that you are my sister, I will strike you down where you stand!"

She took an instinctive step backwards, though she refused to let the sliver of fear which ran through her show.

He looked absolutely mad as he began to advance, rising the sword.

"Stop!"

Guinevere caught his wrist in the air, and though her strength was close to non-existent at the moment, he stilled immediately, lest he accidentally hurt her.

She sighed as her fingers wound around his wrist more tightly, and she tugged at it so he would lower his arm. He resisted at first, but she was insistent and he slowly brought his hand down.

"This will solve nothing," she told him quietly, rubbing her thumb against the skin of his forearm soothingly; he was shaking in his anger, still ready to pounce and take Morgana's head right on the spot.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He simply couldn't.

Guinevere watched him with a heavy heart, as he decidedly looked anywhere but at her. He pulled away from her grasp without a word or a glance, striding out of the dungeon and yelling at the guards some more on his way out.

Her eyes closed for a moment; this would be a difficult night. She was exhausted and weary, with heavy burdens carried within both her heart and mind; still, she would to remain strong for his sake.

"You shouldn't be alive."

Guinevere's lip twitched in anger but she kept her expression neutral as she turned to face Morgana. The latter seemed torn between surprise and rage at seeing the Queen alive.

"A Dragonlord was owed a favour," she said, refusing to elaborate that particular topic any further. She sighed as she raised the bracelet she still held for Morgana to see. "We found this," she told the witch, "and we know what it was for."

Morgana regarded the enchanted bracelet with disinterest. "Took you long enough," she commented flatly, "It was for naught anyway."

Guinevere shook her head sadly. She knew there was more to the story beside the bracelet; she had done something to Lancelot too and Guinevere dreaded to learn what it was. Gorlois had told her his daughter had done horrible things and it would appear his words were proving true. Guinevere wondered what other horrors still waited to be uncovered.

"The only reason I stopped Arthur is because I have given my word to an honourable man," she spoke once more, "To Gorlois."

Morgana's nostrils flared at the words. "What could you possibly know of my father?"

"He came to me at the gates of the spirit world," Guinevere explained, "asked me to remember you and help you find your heart again. He believes you still have one."

She shook her head slightly as she observed the bitterness and mad desire for revenge written on Morgana's face. "Perhaps he was wrong."

Guinevere turned to walk away then, unwilling to spend a moment longer in the other woman's presence.

"I want to wear the crystal."

The words made Guinevere pause in her tracks and look over her shoulder. Morgana was breathing more rapidly now, her cold demeanour faltering slightly as she added, "If what you say is true, then I want to hear it from my father myself."

Just for a moment, Guinevere could see the hatred melt in her eyes and reveal the sad girl she had met so many years ago, the one whose eyes had then told a story of grief over the loss of her father.

When she didn't speak, Morgana became angry again. "I am a High Priestess, I have more right to that crystal than any of you!"

Guinevere considered the request. She was reluctant to grant Morgana any wishes, especially now, but Gorlois stood a better chance of reaching that heart he believed to be buried deep down than she ever could.

"I will arrange it," she agreed, not sparing Morgana another glance as she exited the dungeon, hearing the guards lock the door behind her.

Merlin and Gaius stood close by, and she did her best to give them a smile.

"Gwen," Merlin began uncertainly but she raised her hand to halt what was certain to be a lengthy and jumbled apology; she did not have the strength to deal with that right now.

"We will speak tomorrow," she told them both, "There are things I must tell you and others I wish you – both of you – to explain to me. I will see you in the morning."

She didn't give them a chance to reply as she moved past them. She would need to deal with one problem at a time and, at the moment, her biggest one was Arthur.

Her brother waited for her, and she allowed him to help her walk back to the royal chambers, where she was certain she would find her husband. Elyan too tried to apologise, but she had stopped him as well, assuring him they would have a chance to speak later.

The journey to the chambers was hence done in silence. She bade him goodnight as they came to a stop before the doors and, unable to resist the urge, told him of how she had seen their parents in the spirit world. He lightened slightly at that, and she promised to relate the entire conversation to him at a later time. He hugged her as he took his leave, offering a heartfelt apology before she could stop him.

She watched him go with a small smile before stepping inside the chambers cautiously.

As she had imagined, she found Arthur inside. He was seated in one of the chairs, with his shoulders slumped in defeat and his head buried in his hands.

She knew he had heard her enter but he made no move to acknowledge it, leaving her to sigh deeply as she stepped farther inside.

Her cloak was discarded on the table, along with the silver bracelet, before she came to a stand directly before him.

He could feel her standing there, but he could still not bring himself to look at her. There were no words he could find to say to her, other than to tell her he was sorry. That seemed hardly fitting, though; it was not nearly enough. She had told him, not all that long ago, that he would always say he was sorry, and that she understood; he had dreaded the day her patience would run out then, and he was terrified of the possibility that the time might be now.

Not that he didn't deserve it.

He had been so blind, had played right into Morgana's devious schemes. It was grotesquely appropriate, he supposed; he would always presume sorcery to be the culprit whenever things went wrong, but the one time he _truly _should have seen it, he hadn't. He had thought it more plausible that Guinevere betrayed him on the eve of their wedding than the idea of something feeling distinctly out of place in the whole setting.

He was an idiot. Always trusting the wrong people, _protecting_ the wrong people, always making the wrong decisions and coming to the wrong conclusions; his mind was worthless. He had no business calling himself a worthy man, much less a worthy King.

He should just sentence himself to death.

And then let Guinevere rule the kingdom. She would probably do a much better job of it, anyway.

"I'm sorry I didn't explain myself before," he heard her speak softly, "but I had to know for certain first. I saw Lancelot in the spirit world, and he said an injustice had been done to me…to us both, actually. Morgana did something to him as well, and he is not to blame for any of it either."

Stupid, honourable Lancelot, still doing everything to make Guinevere happy from beyond the grave. Even in death, he was worthier of her.

"Would you at least look at me?" she prompted after a moment, though her tone was still gentle.

His hands slowly lowered, and his eyes only rose to hers for a fleeting moment before they went to the ground again. He heard her sigh before he felt her fingers thread softly through his hair.

"I know you blame yourself," she told him, "but the truth is, if anyone should have known, it was me. I couldn't make sense of my actions that night, but I still didn't think I was enchanted."

Her kind words of understanding only served to make him feel worse. He had nearly lost her tonight, and had almost given the entire kingdom to the woman who had used her sorcery to make him banish Guinevere; kindness and understanding were the last things he deserved.

As her reassurances seemed to have no effect, Guinevere moved closer, running both her hands through his hair until they rested at the back of his head, where she tugged gently, making him tilt it backwards.

His eyes wandered to hers a few times, but he would always lower them again.

"You forgave me even when you thought I had betrayed you," she spoke again, "and that means more to me than I can say. More than learning what this bracelet was for ever could."

He reached out suddenly, his arms wrapping around her waist as he drew her closer, resting his forehead against the comforting warmth of her skin, just above her heart. She held him tighter too, cradling his head in the circle of her arms as her fingers returned to his hair, weaving through the strands softly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, knowing the words had probably lost their meaning by now, but unable to think of any others. And once they had left his mouth, there was no way of stopping the flood.

He apologised over and over again, whispering his regret against her skin, and her heart sank lower with every word. There was no beginning or end to the string, but he kept repeating that he could never lose her, his Guinevere, that she meant more to him than anything else, even Camelot itself. She would grant him forgiveness for anything, but the way he spoke made her blink back tears and stifle sobs as she tried to soothe him with gentle strokes of her fingers.

She was so weary of it all, the truths she had uncovered and the pain which seemed to follow them all restlessly, and dread gnawed at her heart because she knew what he had almost done, she could feel it. They had all skittered around it evasively before, the reason for Gaius' lies, but she had had strong suspicions then, and Arthur only confirmed them now.

They had thought no Priestess had helped her, so her husband was going to seek the last one out, and Gaius had been desperate to stop him. She could only assume the meeting never took place, as Camelot still appeared to be under their rule, but she knew he would have been willing to give it up.

It frightened her just as it did before, to know a man of such power held her above everything else.

She sighed yet again; she would need to discuss it with Arthur in the morning. She did not have the strength to argue now and he was certainly in no state to be confronted about it either.

He seemed to have run out of words, only holding her tightly now. She pushed the last of her tears back, forcing a smile as she pulled back a fraction, keeping his face in her hands.

"We should get some sleep," she suggested kindly, tracing one of the circles beneath his eyes with her fingertips; he probably hadn't slept at all since she had fallen unconscious, "Everything can wait until morning."

He nodded his compliance, pressing a small kiss into the palm of her hand before standing.

As all her maids had been sent to bed themselves, he helped her with the laces of her dress and, because she was too tired to rummage for her nightgown and was certain Arthur would not find it even with a detailed map, decided to simply sleep in her underdress.

She was already wrapped in the covers by the time he joined her, and she drew him close as soon as he had settled. He still seemed uncertain and hesitant though and, wishing to lift his spirits even a little bit, she told him of the words she had traded with his mother.

She felt him smile softly as she spoke of the pride Ygraine felt for her son, and then tense when she phrased his mother's request not to resent his uncles. She knew he would not forgive Agravaine in particular, but she was certain he would not hate him either, lest he offended his late mother.

"Did you see my father too?" he queried tentatively at one point, and Guinevere forced herself to lie.

"No, I did not," she said as she traced soft patters on his chest, "I only saw those who wished to see _me_, and I don't think your father would ever wish for such a thing."

"I suppose not," he conceded, "but I had thought that maybe… he'd seemed kinder at the end, so…well, it doesn't matter."

She fell silent after that, unwilling to upset him any further. He should retain some good memories of his father.

It was not long after that she drifted off to sleep, but Arthur still stayed awake for long hours. His conscience would not give him rest and he stifled the urge to apologise a thousand times more, knowing Guinevere would dislike it.

Careful not to jolt her, he brought her body closer to his. He would make it up to her, all of it. He would make it up to her.

* * *

Come morning, Guinevere found herself in bed alone, with her maids already waiting to tend to her needs for the day.

She had to admit she was disappointed by Arthur's absence, but she supposed he had matters to attend to after having neglected them due to her indisposition. Namely, the grand feast that had never come to pass. Everyone would scold her for feeling so, but there was a certain guilt which followed her as she thought of all the wasted food and arrangements, and the people's denied chance of celebrating such an important date in the year.

Her maids had drawn her a bath and then helped her into a rather plain dress which, while not strictly speaking befitting of a Queen, was still very comfortable. Certainly more comfortable than the heavy gowns she was meant to wear every day.

It would also seem the uneaten food for the feast had come to serve a purpose, as a wide variety of plates was set for her on the table.

As soon as she was seated, she sent the maids for Gaius and Merlin, excusing them from their duties when the two men arrived.

They both stood in awkward silence before her as she sipped on her water and took a few bites of the food.

"We are alone, so there is no need for pretences," she decided to go straight to the point, "I know you are Balinor's son, Merlin," she told her friend and, though had known as much, he still gulped, "and I am certain you know as well, Gaius."

"Indeed, milady," the physician confirmed after a pause, chancing a look at Merlin, who was promptly staring at his shoes.

"Why did you never tell me, Merlin?" she queried, observing his bowed head with a certain sadness, "I would never think ill of you, you know that."

He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet around, still not quite daring to look at her.

"Uh," he stuttered, "I…it was best kept secret. And…I didn't want you to have to lie to Arthur, and…well, after your father died, you hated magic too, so…"

"I never hated _you_," she countered sadly, fighting her tears. Was that the reason Morgana had never told her of her magic either, whilst they had still been friends? Because she had feared hatred and contempt?

"I know, but…"

His voice trailed off, and he could not truly find the words to explain it.

"And why haven't you told me these past few months? You know I no longer believe magic to be evil, you know it better than anyone."

He shrugged helplessly before finally lifting his head. "I wanted to," he said quietly, "I meant to, I…before you put on the crystal, I'd decided I would, one of these days…"

She nodded, though the sense of sadness still lingered. Her friend had not trusted her enough to share his secret with her; she supposed she couldn't quite blame him, as years of having to hide his true self could not have been easy, and with the way sorcerers were treated, he would always need to be extremely cautious.

"I understand," she said at length, "but now I can thank you in person," she added with a small smile, "for everything you have done for me. You told Kilgharrah to look after me and now, it is only thanks to you – and your father – that I am still alive. Thank you, Merlin."

Tears sprang to his eyes at hearing her gratitude and, while he cherished it, he also believed he didn't quite deserve it. After everything, she still believed in him but, when she had needed him to do the same, he hadn't.

"He didn't actually tell me who you were, you know," she told him next, smiling more widely, "But some of the things he said, they just…made all the little things fall into place."

"I always did say you were too smart," he commented, grinning as she rolled her eyes.

"He also wanted me to tell you he said 'hello'," she proceeded, growing more serious now, "and that he wished for you to pass on his greetings to your mother and Kilgharrah, and to you as well, Gaius," she turned to the silent physician, "He called you his old friend."

A faint smiled graced the aging man's face as well. "I knew Balinor well," he said wistfully, "and, after Uther had lured him to Camelot under false pretences, I helped him escape."

Guinevere nodded, and she couldn't help but wonder what other stories of the past she had not heard, stories forced to keep hidden because of prejudices and unjust laws. There had to be so many and a part of her wished to hear them all; the curious tales of a time long gone.

As much as she desired to simply engage in such discussions, there were more pressing matters she needed to address. Most of all, Arthur.

Both Merlin and Gaius seemed to sense her change in demeanour and their smiles dimmed, though they seemed to have misinterpreted her reversion to seriousness.

"Gwen," Merlin began contritely, "about what happened with Lancelot…we are so sorry, we should have known."

She dismissed the apology with a slight headshake; she had no desire to hear any more words of regret, though she supposed it would be quite some time before they waned. And, while there was still the matter of what Morgana had done to Lancelot, a matter he had told her Merlin and Gaius would know of and one she was both eager and dreadful to learn about, she decided to leave it for a time when both she and Arthur were present.

Speaking of Arthur…

"If I had not suspected sorcery, then I suppose you could not have either," she said, pretending not to notice the way they instantly seemed to grow even guiltier. "That is not what I wish to speak to you about, not yet anyway," she went on before her eyes focused solely on Gaius, "None of you truly spoke of it last night, but I must ask you tell me now and to be honest in your answer. Why did you lie to Arthur, Gaius?"

He seemed reluctant to reply truthfully, exchanging an uncomfortable look with Merlin. Arthur would have both their heads, as they were certain he never wanted Guinevere to learn of the deal he had tried to make.

"You wished to stop him from going to Morgana, didn't you?" she prompted when no answer was given to her, and received confirmation at the sight of the men's uneasy expressions.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead; he should not consider her as more important than the whole of Camelot.

"You must know that I would never wish to see you harmed, much less dead," Gaius spoke after a time, "but the idea of Camelot being given to Morgana…I had thought _that_ would certainly be the required price for her help."

Guinevere lifted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly; there was something about his phrasing and tone that unsettled her.

"Had thought?" she echoed, prompting the men to exchange yet another look.

She found herself growing annoyed. "Just tell me."

Merlin seemed to be summoning his courage, taking a deep breath before speaking. "He did go to Morgana," he admitted, "I don't know what was said exactly, but I'm sure he did offer her Camelot. She refused, though. Whatever offer he made, she refused."

Guinevere stared at him, now finding her annoyance shift towards her husband. He had offered her Camelot, she was certain of it. The idiot.

A knock on the doors interrupted her thoughts and when she granted the visitor entrance, Leon appeared in sight, grinning happily.

"Gwen," he said, his voice bright with relief, "I came as soon as I heard you had woken. I am so happy to see you."

She smiled at her friend, disregarding the heaviness of the previous course of conversation for moment. "Thank you," she told him kindly, her brow furrowing as she thought his words over, "Wait, were you not in Camelot last night? I had found it odd that you were not here with the other Knights when I woke, of course, but I had assumed you were still in the city."

His smile faded at the comment. "Did Arthur not tell you?" he ventured hesitantly, and her own smile disappeared completely. Heavens, what else had he done?

"No, he did not say a thing," she said somewhat tersely, "Where have you been, Leon?"

The Knight seemed to become very uncomfortable, casting glances at Gaius and Merlin for assistance. None was offered to him, so he proceeded with a sigh of defeat. "The King sent me for Odin, to bring him here so that he may answer for his crimes."

"What crimes?"

"He tried to kill you," Leon said slowly, obviously deeming the crimes to be obvious, "by giving you that enchanted crystal."

Guinevere looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "He hadn't meant to kill me," she said, "It was an accident."

While Gaius seemed to side with her view of the situation, Merlin and Leon looked unconvinced.

"I know you would perhaps rather believe he has honoured his word," the Knight told her, "but you must admit his actions are suspicious."

She opened her mouth to counter his words, but gave up with a sigh; it would require time which she did not have, as Arthur was probably in the process of carving his name on Odin's insides.

"I was unconscious for one day," she muttered, "_One_ day."

She rose to her feet. "Where is Odin now?" she asked and when Leon confirmed he was in the throne room with Arthur, she took off in that direction as quickly as her weak legs would carry her. The three men trotted behind her dutifully and silently.

The doors of the throne room were opened to her immediately, and she was greeted by the sight of Odin kneeling as Elyan and Gwaine held him down, while Arthur accused him of trying to murder his Queen, presenting him with an argument Guinevere was quite certain only made sense to his own ears.

"This is preposterous!" Odin yelled indignantly, "You accuse me with no proof!"

"No proof?" Arthur repeated furiously, "You gave her the necklace yourself!"

She squared her shoulders as she cleared her throat loudly. The shouting stopped as all eyes went to her, with Odin having to crane his head at an odd angle to be able to see her.

"Guinevere," Arthur let out in surprise, sidestepping the kneeling King as he approached her hastily, "what are you doing here?"

"I am trying to stop you from declaring war over a misunderstanding," she said, a little more sharply than she had intended, lowering her voice as she added, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Milady," Odin spoke up, "please try and make him see sense - "

"Shut up!" Arthur yelled over his shoulder, his voice immediately growing softer as he turned back to Guinevere, "He tried to kill you and, this time, he nearly succeeded. There is no misunderstanding."

"Do you really believe that, had he meant to kill me, he would have used the crystal as his means?" she challenged, "The crystal which allows one _to see their dead_?"

His brow furrowed and he seemed to be on the brink of grasping her meaning. Her eyes left his as they focused on Odin's, which seemed to be slowly filling with tears.

"If he had truly known of the crystal's power, he would not have wasted it on me," she went on, her tone turning softer, "He would have kept it and looked for someone who would help him wield it, so that he could see his son."

There was no mistaking Odin's sadness for anything other than genuine grief, and Guinevere slowly brought her gaze back to Arthur's. He seemed very contrite now, ashamed of his rashness, and lowered his eyes to the ground.

Guinevere gave her brother and Gwaine pointed looks, and they released Odin immediately. He presented them both with scornful glares as he rose to his feet, dusting his clothing off just a tad dramatically to drive his point further home.

The tightness in his expression did seem to lessen as he turned to Guinevere. "I know it is in very bad taste to ask for a gift to be returned, milady," be began, "but, if you would allow it…"

His request remained unfinished, but Guinevere understood his meaning. "Perhaps one day," she conceded, "when we are no longer hated by the only ones who know the ways of the crystal."

He nodded, though he still needed certainty. "If you give me your word that, when that day comes, the crystal will be returned to me," he said, "I will forget about this…_incident_."

Guinevere sighed, knowing she had little other choice. Odin was not a forgiving man and he was quite capable of raising hell in order to retaliate for Arthur's actions. "You have my word," she promised, idly wondering if she was mad for making all these vows to strange men.

"You are welcome to stay in the palace for as long as you like," she went on, "And when you should decide to leave, Sirs Elyan and Gwaine will be _more than happy_ to ensure your safety during your travels."

The two Knights seemed the furthest thing from happy at the prospect, but her tone indicated she would not take kindly to being challenged; reluctantly, they nodded in obedience.

She then instructed Merlin to see that Odin was accommodated to his liking, before giving Arthur one last reproachful look and exiting the throne room.

It took him a moment to realise she was leaving, and he immediately bolted after her. He was just about to pass the threshold when it occurred to him that he should probably apologise to Odin.

"Uh…my apologies," he tossed over his shoulder, nodding awkwardly before resuming his run, "Guinevere!"

He fell into step with her easily enough, beginning to spout out more apologies, but she raised her hand, making it clear she wished to have this discussion in private. He complied, making the rest of the journey to their chambers in silence.

Once the doors were closed behind them, she turned to him, not giving him a chance to resume his speech.

"How could you have done this?" she demanded, "You had a King brought here with no proof, you didn't even give him a chance to explain himself, you forced him to his knees…you do understand you were moments away from starting a war?"

"I…uh," he began uncertainly, scratching the back of his head nervously, "I thought for certain he had meant to kill you…"

"Oh, you thought for certain? Because you are _never_ mistaken," she said and he was stunned by the sarcastic derision of her tone; she had never spoken to him in such a way.

"I…"

"Did you really not once consider the utter idiocy of the plan you thought Odin to have?" she challenged further, "Did you forget he was willing to raze this entire kingdom to avenge his _dead_ son, and what the crystal is for? Or was it too difficult to make the connection?"

"I could not forget his desire for vengeance if I tried," he countered, growing defensive, "He nearly killed you in one such attempt to avenge his son, and just because we signed a sheet of paper doesn't mean he's given up!"

She closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. He was so infuriatingly thick at times. "Don't you think _your_ grudge against _him_ is clouding your judgement here?" she queried, "I understand you would always assume the worst of him, but things are not always what they seem!"

The rebuttal died on his lips at the words. Things were _never _what they seemed, it would appear, and he had been made cruelly aware of that the previous night.

"I know," he said quietly, and she understood they were not speaking about Odin anymore.

With a deep breath, she went on, her tone growing softer, "I know your heart is always in the right place, but sometimes you must use your head first and thread more carefully."

He would if his head was of any use, really; once again, his mind had proven itself to be worthless.

She sighed softly as she sensed the reprimand he was inflicting upon himself, moving closer and resting a hand on his cheek. It made a small smile appear on his lips, and he pressed a kiss into her palm before gently bringing his arms around her frame, holding her close.

The steady beat of his heart and his warmth were comforting as she rested her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes when his hand smoothed down her hair and he burrowed his nose into her curls, breathing in deeply.

She wished she could simply forget everything else and stay within his arms as if nothing had ever happened; as if he hadn't nearly brought the kingdom down for her.

"I'm sorry," he told her lowly, "I should have been wiser, I just…never seem able to keep a clear head when it comes to you."

"You should try," she advised, "Think of the kingdom and the people first. I am not more important than the whole of Camelot."

"You are to me."

She fell silent for a moment, blinking back her tears, before she forced herself to speak, "Is that why you would have given the throne to Morgana?"

He went completely still and quiet, and Guinevere bit her lip as she waited for him to respond.

After long moments, he spoke up, still holding her within his arms. "What do you mean?"

She sighed; he was going to play oblivious, apparently.

Pulling away, she brought her eyes to his. "I know you thought I was certain to die," she said as calmly as she could, "and I know you went to Morgana for help."

He frowned in displeasure; no one was meant to tell her that, and he was certain Merlin and Gaius had earlier. It angered him that they had upset her so; she was troubled enough as it was.

"Who told you that?" he queried, making her shrug slightly.

"No one told me, not really," she said, "It wasn't all that difficult to piece together. All anyone did was confirm what I already knew."

He seemed to have trouble finding words to respond with, shifting about a little awkwardly before resting his hands on her arms and rubbing gentle circles through the fabric of her dress. "She was my last hope," he admitted, doing his best to keep his voice steady, "I…though you only had hours, and she is the last High Priestess."

He cleared his throat uneasily before giving her a tight smile. "It doesn't matter anyway because she refused."

She felt her previous annoyance begin to resurface. "It doesn't matter because she refused?" she repeated, "So, we should just consider ourselves lucky her thirst for vengeance cannot be so easily quenched, then?"

"Guinevere…"

"You nearly gave her the kingdom," she cut in, taking a step back and making his hands fall to his side meekly, "You would be willing to give her everything you have worked for, to put so many in peril and bring devastation to the land…you know how ruthless she's become, you know she would destroy everything!"

"I thought you were going to die!"

"Still not a good enough reason," she countered rather sharply, "And do you think I would want to be saved, if that was the price? To wake to such a thing? I would rather die than see Morgana destroy everything."

He shook his head. "Don't say that."

"And what if word of this got out?" she went on as if he hadn't spoken, "If the people were to learn you were ready to sell them all to a mad woman they despise? Do you think they would still remain loyal to you after you had nearly traded all their lives for that of _one_ woman?"

"You are not just any woman," he retorted, "You are the Queen."

"I may be the Queen, but I am still not worth more than every other person in the kingdom," she refuted, exhaling exasperatedly as she added, "And what if the situations had been reversed? Would you want _me_ to trade Camelot for _your_ life?"

He made to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. No, he would not want that; never.

"That's different," he protested rather feebly, and it only served to anger her further.

"How is it different?"

He struggled to find an acceptable reasoning, waving his hands about, before simply exclaiming, "It just is!"

She growled under her breath, rubbing a weary hand over her face as she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She hadn't meant to lose her composure in such a manner; she knew he had done what he had out of his love for her, but it pained and scared her, to know that Camelot had a price, and that the price was her.

Arthur watched her with a heavy heart; she was not meant to be upset after everything she had been through, she was supposed to be resting without a care to burden her.

"I know it was wrong, I'm sorry," he said quickly, wishing to appease her, "Don't trouble yourself with my faults, you should be resting."

It would appear he only succeeded in igniting her temper in a rather unprecedented fashion.

"How am I meant to rest when you are off starting wars and making deals that would destroy the whole kingdom with your bloodthirsty sister?"

Her furious shout seemed to echo around them, stunning Arthur speechless. She had scolded him a few times over the years, certainly, but it had never been quite like this. Her patience really seemed to have run out this time.

The urge to simply fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness grew stronger each second, but it also warred with a certain sense of anger at her inability to understand. It was for her, all of it, including the entire bloody kingdom he had built, it was all for her; she had to understand that.

The confliction kept him rooted in spot, until she finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry," she said tiredly, "I shouldn't have said that. It is not my place to say such things."

Before he could respond in any way, Merlin knocked on the doors and, after Guinevere granted him entrance, came to a stand before them a bit uncertainly.

"Odin is satisfied with the arrangements for his stay," he informed, "He wishes me to thank the Queen for her intervention and hospitality, and to tell you he expects to leave tomorrow at first light."

Guinevere nodded, forcing the tiniest of smiles to her lips. "Thank you, Merlin," she said, "I appreciate your efforts."

He dismissed the gratitude with a shrug; he owed her more than he could probably accomplish in a lifetime after he had failed her the way he had. Putting up with Odin was the least he could do. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Now that you mention it, yes," she told him, and he grew somewhat wary at her sombre tone, "Please, find Gaius and bring him back here with you," she instructed, "Lancelot told me something was done to him as well, and that the two of you would know what it was; I want to hear all about it," she cast a glance at her husband, "We both should."

Merlin's fair skin seemed to grow even paler at the request, and he became rather nervous. He complied nevertheless, nodding as he made his way out of the chambers and in search of Gaius.

They would need to tell the King and Queen everything about Lancelot's rise from the dead, including the fact he and Gaius had known of it all along, and his guess was, neither Guinevere nor Arthur would take to it kindly.

* * *

**A/N 2: The next chapter is basically a Lancelot-fest. So again, I apologise in advance to those who may very much dislike the character. **


	30. The Story of the Bravest Knight

**A/N: Here comes the Lancelot-fest. Be forewarned, my love for the fellow knows very few bounds.**

* * *

The wait for Gaius and Merlin to arrive was spent in silence, as Guinevere sat stoically at the table and Arthur paced the room. He made to speak a few times, but would always think the better of it; he had no idea what to say anyway. He never quite knew the right things to say, especially when it came to Guinevere.

She was still cross with him though, he could feel it, but her thoughts seemed to be on Lancelot rather than him; she twirled the bracelet in her hands absentmindedly, her eyes taking on a faraway, pensive quality ever now and then. He found that it bothered him, for Lancelot to preoccupy her mind. It was uncalled for, as it had been proven beyond doubt she had not regarded the Knight with anything other than friendship for a long time; it still bothered him.

Finally, Merlin and Gaius returned, and Arthur's mood instantly worsened at the sight of the physician; his lies had hurt him deeply and he had the distinct feeling more lies were about to be uncovered.

He heard Guinevere sigh softly as she rested the bracelet back atop the table, clasping her hands in her lap as she brought her eyes upwards.

"You know what I wish for you to tell me about," she said, "And I ask that you do so honestly."

Both men nodded, exchanging a look before Gaius spoke, "You said you had seen Lancelot in the spirit world; how much has he told you of what happened to him?"

"Nothing, really," she told him with a shrug, "He only said that the two of you would know what it was."

Again, Gaius sighed; this would not be an easy conversation. Next to him, Merlin was beginning to shuffle his feet nervously; he feared his friends' reaction quite a lot.

"There is a branch of the Old Religion," Gaius began after a moment, "one that, even in the time when sorcery reigned freely, was frowned upon; necromancy."

Guinevere felt her simmering sense of dread grow. "Necromancy?" she echoed quietly, "As in, raising the dead?"

The physician nodded sombrely. "I do not know its exact workings," he said, "It is a very obscure subject, but I do believe Morgana would know how to wield such magic."

He paused there, giving the Queen a sympathetic look; her eyes showed dread and sadness, as she had already begun to understand. His tone grew softer as he proceeded, "When a soul is raised from the dead through necromancy, they are not the person they used to be; they are shades, and their will is no longer their own. They are completely at the command of the one who brought them back."

She pressed her lips together, fighting her tears. "So, Lancelot was never really here," she said, her voice quiet, "He died on the Isle of the Blessed."

"Yes," Gaius confirmed sadly, "The Lancelot we saw was nothing more than Morgana's puppet."

She bit down on her lip, her eyes dropping to the tablecloth as she queried, "Did it…hurt his spirit, what she did to him?"

Gaius hesitated; though the sorcery was said to torment the raised souls, he knew Merlin had lifted the magic during Lancelot's burial. Gwen needn't know every single gruesome detail. "No," he said at length, "I'm sure you would have noticed, had his spirit been scarred by her magic."

She nodded in acknowledgement, refraining herself from speaking for a moment; she was certain her voice would falter.

It was Arthur who broke the silence, voicing his thoughts for the first time since the start of the conversation. "How long have you known of this?" he prompted tersely; they would do well not to say they had known from the start because, by God…

Both pairs of eyes went to the ground. "We've known since the beginning," Gaius admitted, causing Guinevere's head to lift upwards in astonishment, while Arthur's mouth thinned in anger.

"A test can be performed to determine whether one is a shade or not," Gaius went on, "Merlin and I had our suspicions, and I performed the test."

"How could you not tell me?" Arthur yelled and while Merlin flinched, Gaius merely took a deep breath.

"We had no proof."

"You just said you performed a test!"

"The test required the use of magic," Gaius confessed hollowly, "I might as well not have performed it at all."

The confession stunned the King into silence for a moment, only fuelling his anger; it would seem lying came as a second nature to the man he had once trusted blindly and, worse still, the scrawny manservant he would never admit to considering his closest friend was no stranger to it either. When he had learned the lies concerning his father, he had understood; this, however, was another matter entirely.

"That does not excuse you!" he finally shouted, "Either of you! You let me believe Lancelot had betrayed me, you let him wander about when you knew Morgana had sent him here! And Guinevere! You never once considered she had been enchanted too!"

His outraged reprimands continued, growing louder each second. Gaius received them stoically, not denying a single accusation; for the omission of truth and lack of faith in Guinevere, he was guilty on all counts.

The Queen's attention, however, was not on Gaius, but on Merlin. He seemed to be on the verge of tears, and folding in on himself under Arthur's temper; she could not believe him. Lancelot's first friend in Camelot, and he would let everyone believe the most honest of men had betrayed his King. She could not even feel the pain of knowing he had not believed in her then; it was a dull ache by now, one she was accustomed to. But Lancelot…how could he not have said a thing about Lancelot?

His eyes met hers, and his lip trembled as he noticed the hurt and disbelief there, his tears growing heavier. Tears of her own burned with disappointment and betrayal as she looked on her old friend; so many secrets he kept and some, she could understand. This, however, she could not.

"You knew," she spoke, and though her voice was barely above a whisper, it silenced Arthur instantly. His eyes too went to Merlin, who stood before the Queen fearfully.

"You knew, and you never said," she went on quietly, "He thought so highly of you, he considered you his closest friend…and you never said a thing."

Merlin swallowed tightly, his voice quivering as he said, "I…I'm sorry."

"Milady, I advised him not to say anything," Gaius interjected, "He wanted to, but I advised against it. It is I who should take the blame."

Guinevere's expression hardened. "Does he not have a mind of his own?" she countered, "Is he a child who must be told of what to say or do?"

The harsh words made Gaius quiet down and he spoke no further, prompting the Queen to turn her eyes back to Merlin; his own immediately went to the ground.

"I'm sorry," he apologised again, "I…I could not say how I knew, and…I could not prove it."

"Your word would have sufficed," Arthur said sadly, his expression souring as he added, "Back then, at least."

A long bout of silence ensued, before Guinevere rose to her feet. "I need to be alone for a moment," she told the others, stepping around the table.

"Guinevere," Arthur called out to her, taking hold of her arm gently.

"It will only be a moment," she said hollowly, "I'll be fine."

She moved away then, not sparing anyone a second glance as she exited the chambers. Arthur watched her go reluctantly, feeling as though the growing heaviness in his heart would soon choke him; he decided to fight it with anger.

He whirled back on Gaius and Merlin. "Did it really never cross your minds that Morgana had done something to her as well?" he queried and, when they both bowed their heads in shame, allowed his ire to drive him. He chastised them over and over again, desperate to quell the nagging voice that would not give him rest, reminding him that he would probably not have suspected it either. He could not say for certain now what he would have thought then, after the entire truth had been uncovered, but he knew his mind; even if he had known of Lancelot's true nature, odds were he would have still thought Guinevere to be guilty. And it troubled him, the possibility that he too would have shown her none of the faith she deserved.

So, he took it out on the two men, to alleviate his own guilt.

* * *

Guinevere walked through the hallways numbly, pausing momentarily as the Round Table came into view. There was no one in the large chambers and the guards were not at their posts, and she was glad of it; she would dislike for any of the men to see her in such a state, or to have to order them all to leave.

She closed the heavy doors behind her, leaning her forehead against them for a moment.

She could blame Merlin and Gaius all she wanted, but the truth still remained that she should have known; she should have known Lancelot would never betray Arthur, not even after a thousand ordeals. He would never come between her and Arthur, no matter his hardships; she should have remembered that.

Arthur had spoken of how everyone had failed _her_, had forgotten _her_ nature, but she had forgotten Lancelot's, and it grieved her.

Even now, when he was long dead and yet another in an endless sea of the departed, he had only wished for _her_ name to be cleared; he deserved so much more than what he had been given.

She turned to the table with a weary heart, smiling faintly as she imagined all the seats occupied, including his. He would have been so happy to be there, a proud Knight of Camelot, who sat next to the Queen.

Her legs carried her across the room and she came to a stand behind the ever-empty chair, placing her hands atop its back.

It was how Arthur found her a while later, after having grown concerned with her absence. He had left Merlin and Gaius behind and, though their lies should be considered treason, he would never wish to see them punished, much less dead.

He had searched for Guinevere, though he was running out of places to look. When he finally came before the chambers which contained the Round Table and found the doors closed, he knew he had found the right one.

He entered slowly and exhaled in relief when he spotted her, growing solemn as he realised she was as still as a rock, clutching at the back of Lancelot's empty chair.

"I was beginning to worry," he spoke quietly, "I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes still trained on the polished wood before her, "I must have been here longer than I realised."

He moved closer hesitantly, not knowing whether she would welcome his presence or not. He could not tell if her anger towards him had waned, and the uncertainty kept him from simply taking her in his arms and soothing her.

It pained him to see her this way, because she should never be this sad and troubled. She should always smile and laugh, and go on and on about those silly little flowers she loved, or something such; something happy.

Eager to break the silence, he voiced the first thing that came to his mind, "I will make sure everyone knows the truth about the bracelet."

She surprised him by shrugging. "It doesn't really matter, that bracelet."

"What?"

She sighed deeply before responding. "I was enchanted and banished, but after everything has been said and done, I am still here," she told him sadly, "I have you," she smiled faintly, "I have a crown, and Knights toasting to my name, and people lighting candles in the cold when I am ill."

A quiet sniffle escaped her before she recomposed herself, blinking back her tears. "But Lancelot is gone," she went on, "and all he has is a tarnished honour and a chair."

She shook her head desolately. "The bravest Knight, and all he has is an empty chair."

Arthur's eyes went to the ground; he should have expected it, for her to be more troubled by Lancelot's fate than her own. In a way, he supposed she was right; he had forgiven Lancelot a long time ago, and had placed a seat at his Round Table to honour the memory of his bravest Knight, but he still knew it could never erase his presumed sin from the people's minds. They still talked, and it was Lancelot they spoke of in the most demeaning way. Guinevere was Queen now and they would not speak so ill of her, especially not after she had proven her worth and earned their love. But Lancelot was dead, and there was nothing he could do to restore his good name from beyond the grave; a good name that, as it turned out, should never have been in need of restoring in the first place.

"He didn't even care, you know," Guinevere's low, sad voice broke through his thoughts, "about what anyone said of him. He just...said no one should think these things of _me_."

It was a horrible thing, to know the extent of the injustice which had been inflicted upon Lancelot, both him and Guinevere, and it grieved Arthur more than he could say, to see her suffer for it now.

"I will make it right," he promised, pushing back tears of his own. It seemed quite a long time ago now, when he had first brought the Round Table to Camelot and added two empty seats to it, one for the Queen he thought would never have him back and one for the Knight who would never lay eyes on it; he had vowed to himself then, that he would always remember to think before acting, that he would never lose sight of the consequences of his actions. It would seem he had forgotten his own words. This dreadful enchantment, he could perhaps not have foreseen that, but he had been rash in his ways, nearly declaring war and giving the entire kingdom to Morgana; the consequences should have been obvious, but he had not thought of them and now, Guinevere was more upset with him than he had ever seen her.

He had to make it right.

* * *

Two days later found the Queen standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, her eyes steadily resting on the great bonfire which lit up the cold winter's morning and the countless red cloaks that littered the cobblestone.

The King stood before them all, speaking of Lancelot and his nobility, and of the injustice done to him. He had honoured her wishes of not mentioning her in his speech and for that, she was grateful; there was no need for him to speak of her, as the news would circle the kingdoms soon enough. She was certain her brother alone would ensure it.

This day was not about her, as it was Lancelot they were remembering and she wished they would never forget him again.

The fire burned high and each man was to honour the memory of their fallen friend by tossing a token into the flames, as both a sign of remembrance and a gesture of regret for believing in a web of lies. Most would toss their gauntlets, while others offered scraps of cloth which had been their good fortune in tournaments, and others still would bring their old embroidered cloaks to the blaze.

The King went first, after having said his words of respect, offering his old sword to the flames; Guinevere supposed it was very fitting, as Lancelot had been his brother in arms and there was no greater way to honour a Knight than with a blade.

Or a pitcher of ale, if Gwaine was to be believed. He poured the liquor into the fire, sparking it to new heights for a moment, before throwing the empty jug in as well; Guinevere could not help but smile the faintest bit.

Others followed with their own tokens, and the procession took hours, as every last man approached the fire. Merlin stood close to it too, bringing a scroll of parchment as his offering. Guinevere had no idea what was written on it, but she assumed it bore great importance to Merlin. He looked up at her as he stepped aside, and even from high above, she knew his eyes were filled with tears. She could not pretend to have truly forgiven his lies; not yet anyway. He had a good heart, she was certain of that, and he had cared for Lancelot dearly, but she could not excuse his actions; he would have let everyone believe a horrendous lie had the truth not been uncovered by accident, and she could not dismiss the betrayal.

She had yet to truly speak with him in private, away from Arthur, and there were still many things she needed to ask him and answers she demanded. The young warlock had also fallen low in the King's eyes and Guinevere knew it took a toll on both men; she hoped they would mend the rift soon, as their friendship was not one that should be so easily squandered.

Gaius no longer had Arthur's trust either, and Guinevere could not blame him. Of course, she knew the physician's heart was true as well, but it bothered her to know lying seemed to be second nature to him. But then, she surmised it was not all that surprising; he had seen more than any of them, and he could not have survived Uther or the laws he had enforced with honesty. She would need to speak with him as well.

All that could wait for a few hours, though; this was the time to remember Lancelot.

After every offering had been brought to the fire, the men bowed their heads as one in respect, silently paying tribute to the most noble of them all.

Once their respects had been paid, they left the courtyard one by one, until it was empty. It was only then that she ventured down herself and stood before the lone fire, to offer her own token. It had taken quite a bit of rummaging through the drawers of her old home, but she had found it in the end; the measuring tape she had used the first time she had met him. She turned it over in her hand for a moment, smiling at the memory of that day before tossing it into the dwindling flames.

She remained there until they died out completely, just as she had the last time a fire had been lit in Lancelot's memory. The last one standing for the man whose heart had been hers from the start, and to whom she could not give hers in return; she owed him that much.

Tears ran down her cheeks and she did not bother restraining them; he deserved to have someone cry for him. All the Knights, they would never shed tears for one another; no man was worth one's tears, Arthur always said. Perhaps it was to be expected, for them to consider tears useless or a sign of weakness; or perhaps they would drown in their own sorrow if they began crying for every last friend they lost.

She didn't care much for their ways; to shed tears of grief for a dear friend could never be a weakness, and someone should cry for Lancelot.

The cold was biting as the last ember died out but she stayed for a moment longer, wiping at the dried stains on her cheeks.

This was, after all, her last farewell to Lancelot.

* * *

She made her way back inside sometime later, and was unsurprisingly met with Knights and courtiers alike, inquiring over anything she needed. They all knew, as was to be expected, of what Morgana had done to her. The King had not mentioned it publicly, but the records of the crime were being altered and the news was spreading through the city at lightning speed.

They all wished to make their own amends, but she politely dismissed them all; apparently, it was not enough to make them stop.

The Knights were overly courteous and the servants indulged whims she did not even have, all in an attempt to earn forgiveness she did not require to begin with. It was all done now; there was nothing anyone could do to erase the past and she did not resent any of them.

She weaved her way through the hallways, reaching the royal chambers with an armful of tokens she had been given on the way; bundles of dried flowers all wrapped in a new shawl she had been gifted with, along with jewellery she had received from a few Knights. It warmed her heart that they would want to make amends, and even more so to see they had been sincere in their apologies, but she still wished they would realise it was not necessary. She could not, however, refuse their gifts.

Pushing the doors open, she found Arthur standing next to the table, where a meal for two had been set, looking a little nervous.

"I thought we might have lunch, just the two of us," he said, "If you want to, of course."

She sighed as she moved to set her new tokens aside, giving him a small smile as she turned back to him. It had all been hard on him too, and she knew he was troubled by how distant she had been these past few days. Though he did not say a thing, she was certain it bothered him to know her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Lancelot; still, he had let her be and for that, she was truly grateful. There was a certain guilt which ate at her too, as he had once let her go because he did not believe himself as worthy of her as Lancelot had been; she imagined this recent development had reawakened those old insecurities.

He had become uncertain around her, and that troubled her. She could not deny still feeling uneasy at the knowledge he would tear Camelot down for her, but she could not be angry for being so loved either.

"I would like that," she said softly, and he presented her with the happiest of grins in response.

He kept her cheerful and laughing throughout the meal, entertaining her with silly stories of the Knights' exploits and one of Gwaine's particularly lively nights in the tavern, steering clear of any topics that might remind her of the recent events.

He was quite pleased to see his efforts pay off and her mood improve; she had been so upset these past few days, and it gladdened him immensely to hear her laugh again.

Of course, he then, true to himself, managed to upset her again. Talk of taverns led to that of the rumours surrounding her, which led to the subject of High Priestesses and magic, and ultimately ended with him saying it would be for the best if the ban magic was never lifted.

That worsened her mood instantly.

"What's brought this on?" she queried, frowning in displeasure, "A week ago, you were as keen as I to alter the laws on magic."

He sighed as he lowered his cutlery, knowing she would not let him drop the subject now. "Yes, and in that week, you nearly died because of magic," he said, "we learned it was used to raise a man from the dead and to take away your free will; it is dangerous."

"Because we know nothing of it," she countered, "The danger it poses is brought on by our ignorance, surely you can see that?"

"Even if we learn all there is to know, it is still too dangerous to be practised freely; all those who hate us would bring the kingdom down the first chance they get."

Her lips pressed together. "You sound like your father."

The remark was nothing short of an accusation and he knew it. "I know he wronged them terribly," he conceded, "but we can't risk it."

Her jaw twitched in anger. "So, what would you have us do, then?" she challenged, "Continue his purge, kill innocent people just because they have magic? Would you like us to drown children too, like he did? Children like Maerwynn?"

"Of course not!" he raised his voice, affronted by the words, "You're taking it too far, Guinevere."

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply to calm herself; perhaps she was taking a tad too far. "You can't just change your mind," she spoke more serenely, "Not after everything. The druids have such faith in you, as does the young warlock – whom I owe my life to, in case you have forgotten. Don't fail them."

Though she spoke of others' faith, he knew it would be _her_ he failed should magic remain outlawed; she was the last one he wanted to fail, and it seemed it was all he did lately.

He was silent for a moment, sighing as he responded, "I can't risk anyone using magic to harm you again."

"They will have no reason to, not if we give them peace," she said with certainty, "But if we do not, then they will most certainly still wish to harm us _all_; even the druids could turn on us."

He remained unconvinced, making her rub her forehead tiredly; she knew his doubts were caused by fear – fear of losing her, more precisely – but his stubbornness still annoyed her.

"Say we do allow magic back into Camelot," he spoke again after a time, "but all those who practise it choose to use it against us; I will have failed the entire kingdom then."

Her eyes rose to his slowly. "You told me yourself it was a risk worth taking, not all that long ago."

"Well, maybe I was wrong!" he let out, "I seem to be wrong about everything, so why should that be the exception?"

So, this was more than just fear for her safety, then; he was beginning to doubt his worth as King again as well. That certainly explained his mood.

"You are only wrong when you don't follow your heart," she told him kindly; he had instances when he would doubt himself every now and then, and it usually took only a few gentle reminders from her to set things right again. "I believe you always know the right thing to do, when it comes down to it."

He would not meet her gaze, and she was stunned to realise his eyes were glassy from tears; it would seem her words had not sufficed this time.

"I'm sorry I ruined our lunch," he muttered, rising from his seat and heading for the doors before she could get another word in. She sighed as she watched him go, leaning her head against the back of the chair wearily; troubles never ceased.

* * *

She had not moved an inch when Merlin found her later, entering the chambers hesitantly.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you," he began rambling off the bat, "I saw Arthur leave, and he was in a mood, and I thought I'd clear the dishes, and well, I didn't know you were here, though I probably should have…uh…I can go. Yeah, I'll go."

"Merlin," she called out softly, letting her head loll to the side so that she could get a proper look at him; he was understandably nervous, and the redness in his eyes was still prominent. "Come sit with me."

He swallowed as he obliged, settling into one of the chairs stiffly.

"What was in that note you threw into the fire?" she queried curiously after a moment, "If you don't mind me asking."

His eyes rested on his hands as he shrugged. "It's silly," he said, "Just…some things I wish I'd said to him. I…I tried a spell, I…enchanted the note. Perhaps he will hear it after all," he admitted, smiling wistfully as he added, "He knew about my magic, you know. From the start."

He chanced a look at her, finding her eyebrows raised in surprise; his smile grew just a bit wider. "Do you remember when he first came here?" he asked, waiting for her to nod before proceeding, "There was that griffin, the one no man could kill but Lancelot managed to…I enchanted his lance; that's how he managed to kill it."

Guinevere blinked before laughing suddenly; oh, she should have known.

Merlin joined in with a chuckle of his own as he went on, "He realised what I'd done, of course…but he never said a thing, not to anyone, and he never thought any less of me."

"That does sound like Lancelot," she agreed sadly, and Merlin promptly dropped his gaze to the table again.

"You were right, I should have been a better friend to him," he spoke contritely, "and to you," he added, "I'm sorry I failed you, Gwen."

She sighed but dismissed the apology with a shrug. "What's done is done," she said, "And I do not wish to lose any more friends, not over something like this."

"You're still too forgiving," he remarked, making her sigh once more.

"I would rather be forgiving than bitter," she told him simply, "I do wish you had said something, though," she added, "about Lancelot."

He bowed his head in shame. "I wish I had too," he said, "but I could not really tell Arthur, not without admitting I'd used magic – it was my magic that proved he was a shade, you know; Gaius only lied to protect me."

"I gathered as much," she commented wryly, bringing forth a little smile from her friend, "I will say this, though; Gaius must be fearless!"

Merlin bit his lip against the laughter, though a snort still escaped him.

"After everything, he had the guts to admit to using magic back then!" Guinevere carried on, beginning to chuckle herself, "And he didn't even blink!"

The warlock was laughing freely now. "He's a tough old goat, alright!"

"Oh, don't ever let him hear you said that!"

Merlin swallowed his laughter down, his voice turning grotesquely grave as he mimicked the physician, "Who are you calling an old goat?"

Their silly giggles lasted for longer than either cared to admit, really; the Once and Future Queen and the greatest sorcerer that ever lived, snickering like a pair of children.

Guinevere's voice took on a more serious note when she spoke again, once they had quieted down. "It's actually a miracle he's still alive," she observed, "Not that Arthur would ever see him dead, but…though he will never say, he was hurt by all the lies."

Merlin's own expression sobered, and he nodded gravely. "I know. He's still very cross with me too."

Guinevere bit her lip. "He's starting to doubt himself again," she confessed, "and this time, I don't think a pat on the back from either of us will do the trick."

The warlock pondered the words, growing pensive. "He'll believe it if it comes from _you_."

"I tried; I'm quite certain he thinks I'm just humouring him."

"Well, give him a little time," Merlin suggested, "A lot has happened."

"Indeed," she agreed, sighing before deciding to venture down another line of conversation, "There is a different matter I wish to speak to you about. I have promised to make certain arrangements and I believe you are just the person to help with it all; it concerns Morgana."

* * *

**A/N 2: I assure you that Arthur's oh-I-am-so-worthless phase has an actual point to it. **


	31. The Value of One's Word

"You're serious about this?"

Guinevere sighed at Merlin's incredulous tone, knowing it was probably to be expected. She had yet to tell anyone else of her plans, and if Merlin thought her mad, she dared not think what the others would say – namely Arthur, with the mood he was in.

"I've given my word to Gorlois," she said simply, "and I do believe he stands a better chance of any sort of success than us," she remarked further, shrugging as she added, "And it is true that, as a High Priestess, she has claim to the crystal; that's actually a birthright of hers I can't contest."

Merlin looked rather stunned, tilting his head to the side as he queried, "Does it really count if you give your word to a dead man?"

"I doubt there is a code anywhere that would prove it," she said, "but I do believe a promise is a promise, no matter the circumstances."

He agreed to that, growing more solemn as he delved deeper into the subject. "Do you think she would change, truly?"

"I daresay you would know better than I, Merlin," she observed, "There is a part of her that, out of us all, only you can truly understand."

She pursed her lips, turning curious as she proceeded. "Do you know why she became this way?" she asked, noticing his shoulders tense. "I used to think magic had corrupted her, like everyone else," she went on, "but I would be either a fool or a hypocrite to believe the same now. I understand she despised Uther for what he did, but I can't help feeling that alone would not suffice."

He tensed further, his eyes going to the ground. "I blame myself, sometimes," he admitted, "Perhaps, I could have helped her more. She was lonely, I think," he surmised, "and resentful, for what was being done to those with magic. She did tell me, about her own magic, and I tried to help because she…she was so scared."

Guinevere nodded, her memories drifting to the earlier years, when she would be woken in the middle of the night by Morgana's frightened screams; her nightmares had tormented her then, and she had told her once that she was afraid Uther might equal her prophetic dreams to sorcery. "But you didn't tell her of _your_ magic?"

He shook his head. "No, I couldn't. Not then, and certainly not after she turned on Camelot. When she told me, I wanted to help, so I arranged for her to meet the druids, but…it went wrong."

"When Uther thought they had kidnapped her," she recalled sadly, sighing; so many secrets, so many misunderstandings.

"Yeah," he whispered, "and after that…well, things happened. Morgause came, she took her…and when Morgana returned, she was no longer the same."

Guinevere sensed there was much more to the story, but decided against pressing further at the moment; quite frankly, she wasn't sure she could handle any more revelations right now.

"You will help me make the arrangements though, won't you?" she prompted after a moment, and he reluctantly nodded his consent.

"I don't think there is much I _can_ do," he said, "but I will carry out any instructions you give me."

"Good," she concluded the conversation for the time being, and Merlin finally began clearing the dishes. He promptly batted her hands away when she tried to assist him.

It was not long after that Elyan came by, and kept her busy for a couple of hours. She told him more of her meeting with their parents in the spirit world, biting her lip in amusement when he claimed his oncoming tears were brought on by something nasty catching in his eye.

She felt herself grow rather tired and her head rather heavy, but she kept a smile for her brother, as she spoke of Delbert and all the other Knights who had come to see her, and Elyan listened to every word avidly. Of course, he tried to weasel in more apologies as well, but she would not hear of it; it still didn't stop him from vowing to be better to her.

It was beginning to grow dark when Arthur returned to their chambers, finding brother and sister engrossed in conversation. The chatter ceased when he entered, and Elyan immediately rose to his feet and excused himself before giving Guinevere one final smile.

Arthur remained in his spot uncertainly; he hadn't actually meant to _chase_ Elyan _away_ with his presence. Really, he should be given some sort of award for constantly finding new ways to upset his wife.

He didn't quite know what to say, not after the way he had behaved at lunch, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I can sleep elsewhere tonight, if you want me to."

She smiled slightly, rising from her chair. "Nonsense," she said as she came closer, "I like you best when you're asleep; keeps you from prattling on."

He couldn't help but chuckle at the teasing. "So, you like me best when I don't speak?"

"Well, I do like it when you speak," she conceded, "but only when you say things that make me blush."

His jaw dropped. "Guinevere!"

She laughed freely now, reaching for his hand when she came to a stand before him. The touch made him quiet, and he dropped his eyes to their joined hands.

"I'm sorry about before," he apologised, "Just…forget I said anything."

"I will if you stop _thinking_ it," she countered softly and though he nodded, she was certain his doubts would still linger. Well, Merlin had said to give him time; perhaps it was what he needed.

"You must know I will always be proud of you, though," she added nevertheless, "Doubt whatever you like, but never _that_. And, even if you decided to, say, attend all your council meetings naked from now on, I would still be proud of you."

He bit back his snort but couldn't quite contain his smile, and she relished the small victory.

"That would be a sight."

"Indeed," she agreed, sure to make her tone as suggestive as possible, and smirked when his eyes instantly dropped to her lips.

The hand which held hers rose as he brought it against his chest while the other went around her waist, and she tilted her head upwards to welcome his kiss.

He sighed as he pressed his lips to hers; though it had only been days, he felt as if he had been denied his love for years.

The kiss was enthralling, and it took him longer than it should have to realise her skin was much too warm.

He frowned as he pulled away, bringing the back of his hand against her forehead, and his brow creased further in displeasure; she was burning up.

"It feels as though you have a fever," he observed, making her grumble; that certainly explained why she was so tired and heavy-headed. Perhaps she should not have stayed out in the cold for so long earlier, and she would never hear the end of it now.

Well, never let it be said she was too proud to admit to her own mistakes.

"I stayed in the cold for too long," she said, causing his expression to sour, and she knew exactly what he was going to say next.

"So, you scold us all as if we were naughty children for letting the people stay out in the cold," he began with his reprimand, "and now you are ill because of the exact same thing."

"You're right," she agreed, "I should have at least taken a coat or something. But with a quick remedy and few hours' sleep, I'll be as good as new."

Her words seemed to have little effect on his worried state. "Go to bed," he ordered, "I'll go fetch your maids and…send for Gaius, I suppose," he muttered, though he clearly wished they had another physician at their disposal.

She knew better than to argue and dutifully made her way to the bed, sitting on it; he seemed to have objections.

"Lie down."

She raised an eyebrow, unable to resist just a little more teasing. "Only if you promise to join me."

He shook his head; the fever was making her brazen.

With one last order she disregarded completely, he went in search of her maids so that they may prepare her for bed, while sending one of the servants for Gaius.

Guinevere was already in her nightgown and tucked in by the maidservants, while Arthur supervised it all with a perpetual frown of unnecessary anxiety, when the physician appeared, vial in hand.

He respectfully nodded to the King before turning his attention to the Queen, raising a knowing eyebrow. "How do you feel, milady?" he queried as he neared the bed, laying a hand on her forehead to estimate the gravity of the fever; he found her skin to be hot enough to confirm it, but too mild to live up to the name Arthur had given it. Not that he would ever voice that particular observation aloud, of course.

"Tired," Guinevere spoke softly, "and very grateful for my pillow, because my head feels too heavy for my shoulders."

He smiled faintly. "Well, that's perfectly normal for a fever," he said, turning to one of the maids as he raised the vial, "Pour the Queen some water and add no more than five drops," he instructed and, as the woman went to carry out the orders, turned back to his patient, "With some rest, you will recover in no time."

"Aren't you going to scold me for being careless?" she asked, knowing he was simply dying to comment on it.

He sighed. "It is true that you should have taken better care because your body is still weak from the use of the crystal," he conceded, a trace of mild reproach in his voice, "but you will be just fine, so it is all good in the end."

She smiled at the words, turning her head to the side. "See?" she told her husband, "You made such a fuss over nothing."

He clearly meant to object to that assessment but Merlin interrupted him as he appeared in sight. "Geoffrey wants to see you," he informed the King, "He's finished altering the records and wishes for you to make sure everything's in order."

Arthur frowned. "Can't it wait until morning?"

Merlin shrugged. "Well, you might as well have it down with now, when everything's ready for you. Don't be lazy."

Arthur's eyes narrowed; the nerve on the scrawny idiot.

"I'm lazy?" he echoed incredulously, though he already began walking towards the doors, "You've not done a decent day's work since I hired you!"

Merlin rolled his eyes as he fell into step with the King. "And what would _you_ know of a decent day's work?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"All _you_ do day in and day out is swish your sword about and not much else, really - "

"Now, hold on a minute…"

" – meanwhile, _I_ polish your armour, do your laundry, serve your meals, clean your chambers…"

"Ha, clean my chambers!"

"Well, they're always clean, aren't they?"

"They are never clean!"

Guinevere smiled as she watched them go, sighing before she remarked, "Well, this puts an end to _that_ quarrel."

Gaius agreed with a chuckle, taking the goblet the maid had filled and assisting Guinevere whilst she drank its contents.

She scrunched her nose at the taste the remedy had given the water, and dismissed her maids a moment later, wishing to have a moment alone with Gaius. He seemed to understand her wish and grew silent, waiting for her to speak.

"I understand why you believe some things are best kept secret," she began, "but you must understand too, that Arthur and I had the right to know."

"I do understand that, Gwen," he said sincerely, "but I have not always had the courage to speak the truth; I regret keeping many secrets."

"But you know many secrets need no longer be kept, surely?"

He nodded. "I know. I fear I have underestimated both you and Arthur for a long time," he admitted, "but even you may find yourselves unforgiving in the face of some truths."

She frowned at the words, intrigued by their ominous character, but decided against inquiring over the physician's meaning tonight; she was too sleepy to even think properly, let alone hear more surprising revelations.

Still, it didn't mean she could not hear _some_ tales. "Sit with me, Gaius," she asked softly, "and tell me a story."

He raised his eyebrows at both the request and her change of tone, but smiled nevertheless. "I can't say I've ever been asked to tell a bedtime story to a Queen," he commented, pulling a chair closer to the bed and making himself comfortable. "What do you wish to hear about?"

"Mm, I don't know," she told him rather groggily, "something from the past, something I've never heard before; I'm quite curious, you know, about all the things you have seen but could never tell because of Uther."

"Ah, I see," he said in understanding; she wished to hear of the old days. "Well, there is something that comes to mind."

She snuggled deeper into the covers and pillows as she waited for him to begin, and the aging physician found her to be as endearing as she had been when young, whilst both her parents still lived.

"It was a long time ago," he began with the story, "before magic was banned. Queen Ygraine had just learned she was with child, and a feast was held to celebrate it. Quite a night that was; I'm sure the music and laughter were heard even across the sea."

Guinevere began to smile as she listened, imagining the Camelot of yesteryear, when everyone happily awaited the birth of their Prince.

"Even Uther smiled throughout the night," Gaius went on, "He was never a very kind or gentle man, not even then, but he was truly happy; he loved Ygraine and he was about to be a father. Nimueh was there too," he recalled, his eyes going to ceiling as he reminisced the events, "no one, with a very few exceptions, knew she had helped the Queen conceive, of course, but it was said she aided her along as a healer, and she was celebrated as such that night. Magic was not forbidden, and especially not a few harmless tricks, so Nimueh conjured blue flames in the air," he smiled there, noticing Guinevere's eyes widen as those of a curious child, "and she made smoke into the shape of dragons, in honour of the Pendragon name."

"That's wonderful," Guinevere observed quietly, and Gaius nodded, turning nostalgic.

"It truly was," he confirmed, "It was the best time I ever had…of course, I was younger then, so I knew how to have one. Still, it was a sight to behold and everyone's spirits were high; even Tristan, Ygraine's older brother, sang and laughed through the entire feast. He was always very serious, very protective of his sister, but even he loosened up…then there was Agravaine, of course. He was quite charming in his youth, I can tell you that, and he kept us all entertained with his famous jig."

Guinevere couldn't help but giggle. "Agravaine had a _jig_?"

"Oh, yes," Gaius affirmed with a small chuckle, "It was known of throughout the kingdoms; all the ladies thought him so handsome and bold. I still remember the way Tristan chided him for it, but Ygraine would always say to let him be young; she was such a kind soul."

The remembrance of things past appeared to make Gaius melancholic, and Guinevere could understand it perfectly; the way he spoke made the old days seem so harmonious, and she would rather not even think of his grief as he watched it all crumble.

"But that was not what made the night so memorable," the physician proceeded, seeming to lighten up, "There was this girl, a disciple of Nimueh's – I've forgotten her name now – and she was quite a troublemaker; so, as you can imagine, she found a perfect friend in Agravaine. He thought the King too stiff and she had magic, so they devised quite a plan to make the feast more…lively, I suppose."

He chuckled more openly now, shaking his head as he commented, "Uther would have me flogged if he were still alive to hear me speak of this."

Guinevere bit her lip in amusement, waiting for Gaius to resume the story, and he did so with a smile.

"Uther and Ygraine stepped down for a dance," he said, "and, just as the eyes of half of Camelot were on them, the King's trousers suddenly…dropped."

Her eyes widened for a moment before she broke into another fit of giggles, turning her face into the pillow to muffle them. Gaius joined her in laughter, sighing as he recalled the late King's face in that one moment when realisation had dawned. "Oh, he was furious, wanted to have both jesters' heads on the spot," he reminisced, his laughter quieting down as he added, "But it made Ygraine laugh for hours, days even… and so he let them be."

Guinevere's amusement subsided as well, and she found herself growing sad instead. "So, he did have a heart once."

"He did," Gaius confirmed, "They all did. Uther, Nimueh, Tristan, Agravaine…_Morgana_."

She nodded against her pillow; she could personally attest to the last one.

"I have never met one who was born without a heart," Gaius added as an afterthought, "Only those who have lost it along the way, or those who have had theirs crushed from the start."

He sighed as he realised his tale had taken quite a sombre direction. "I'm sorry if this wasn't the bedtime story you had hoped for."

She smiled in reassurance. "I enjoyed it quite a lot, actually. Thank you, Gaius."

"Just get some rest," he instructed as he rose to his feet. "Sweet dreams, milady."

She thanked him again, more sleepily this time, and he wondered, not for the first time, if they had all been taking her kind nature for granted all this time. He blew most of the candles out on his way, leaving one burning on the bedside table so the King would not trip and break all his limbs in the darkness; he would hate to add yet another item to Arthur's list of reasons to have him hanged.

Guinevere was on the verge of sleep when she heard quiet footsteps approach and the bed dip, as the last candle was blown out.

She smiled into her pillow as she felt him move about slowly and cautiously, trying to make himself comfortable without jostling her.

"You're not as stealthy as you like to think," she mumbled and heard him sigh in defeat.

"Did I wake you?"

"Mm, no," she said, shifting over to rest her head on his chest, "but you were fighting a losing battle anyway; your snores would have woken me regardless."

He chuckled lowly as she settled against him, and he brought his arm around her shoulders, closing his eyes for a moment. The past couple of nights had been difficult; Guinevere was not only cross with him but also quiet, constantly thinking back on the cursed bracelet and Lancelot, and she would go to bed after he had already fallen asleep and leave it before he had woken. He made no comment on it, lest he troubled her even further, and he thought he had no right to complain either.

She seemed to have let go of it all now though, and he was quite certain she could not imagine just how relieved he felt, or how grateful he was for her forgiving heart.

There were still matters which remained to be spoken of – especially her plans for Morgana Merlin had let slip – but it could all wait.

"At least I don't crush you in my sleep anymore," he whispered into her hair, pointing to the brighter side of things; his snores were most likely incurable, but he had managed to tame his sleeping manner since their wedding.

"Definitely an improvement," she agreed, letting her hand drift across his stomach as she hugged herself to him more tightly, "Aren't you afraid you'll catch my cold?"

If it meant she would keep holding him like this, he honestly could not care less.

"I'll be fine," he said with certainty, "I'm not quite so delicate."

"Really?" she challenged, "Need I remind you of our wedding night?"

"That…was an entirely different situation," he protested and felt her smile against his chest in response.

"Whatever you say, sire," she mocked, her voice growing drawly; he ran his fingers over her shoulder gently, trying to lull her to sleep.

"Arthur?" she whispered after a moment, and he could tell she was already half-asleep.

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember when your trousers dropped during council?"

He frowned at the top of her head; well, that was an odd question. "I could hardly forget. Why?"

"It seems to be a family tradition," she murmured and, with that final remark, drifted off to sleep.

He raised an eyebrow, frowning further; the fever was making her mad as well as brazen.

Shaking his head slightly, he relaxed against the pillows; he could ask her about this tradition of dropping trousers she thought his family to have in the morning.

* * *

Come morning, Guinevere seemed to fare much better and her fever had subsided, though she still felt a little drained, much like she had after having woken from the spirit world.

Arthur, naturally, made it his mission to meet her every need, starting with a grand and overabundant breakfast in bed. He seated himself on the mattress next to her, and she did her best not to smile too widely when he would steal bites of food from her plate every now and then.

"There is something I should tell you about," she began at one point, growing rather serious, "It has to do with Morgana."

To her surprise, he smiled knowingly. "I was wondering when you would bring it up," he said, properly grinning at her befuddled expression. "I'm afraid Merlin told me all about it last night," he informed further, "He was under the impression you'd already told me…I can't even begin to describe the look on his face when he realised you hadn't."

Guinevere blinked, then shook her head as she chuckled. "And here I thought I was going to need a delicate approach," she spoke with evident amusement in her tone, "Poor Merlin, though. I suppose you glared at him furiously until he began stuttering?"

Arthur's grin grew even wider. "You know me too well."

She chuckled once more, turning serious again as she queried, "So, you will not object to this?"

He sighed. "I do not wish to grant Morgana any favours," he admitted, "and if I had had it my way, she would be dead by now, but…I won't deny _you_ anything."

"You wouldn't have gone out of your way to make her comfortable in the dungeons if you had wanted to see her dead," she countered, but he shook his head.

"I didn't know everything then," he pointed out, turning bitter, "And I didn't want to kill my own sister, even though she would not hesitate to snap _my_ neck. Everyone called me mad for sparing her…everyone _still_ calls me mad."

Guinevere shrugged. "In many ways, she is more her father's daughter than you are his son."

He nodded, but the bitterness in his expression didn't lessen.

"You're not denying her the use of the crystal, but you're secretly hoping the entire thing fails gloriously, aren't you?" she asked, and he knew he would be a liar if he claimed otherwise.

"I'm not hoping for it, but I do think it's a lost cause," he said bluntly, "The things she has done, the way she speaks of us all…I don't believe anything can overcome hatred such as hers."

"Perhaps you are right," she conceded, "but I have promises to keep."

"That's actually part of the reason I'm agreeing to this," he confessed reluctantly, "One's word is one's sacred bond, so what kind of hypocrite would I be if I made you break yours?"

His tone was one of grumbling discontent, and she had to smile. "It is so much fun to see you get annoyed with your own rules."

He mumbled a complaint under his breath, frowning at a particular spot of the bedspread which seemed to have caused great offense.

"You don't have to agree with my every whim, you know," she spoke softly, "I am not always right."

"You're certainly right more often than I am."

"Arthur…"

"Let's not speak of that now," he interrupted the string of reassurances which were about to come forth, before giving her a small smile, "It has been my experience that you know best, so just do whatever you think is right."

She thought he gave her entirely too much credit, but far be it from her to argue with a compliment.

He seemed to lighten up after a moment, his expression taking on a curious note. "Last night," he began, "you said something about a Pendragon family tradition of dropping trousers…"

Her brow creased in momentary confusion, but she soon grinned widely. "Oh, you are going to love this…"

* * *

Guinevere was perfectly healthy once more in a few days' time, and decided the moment had come to deliver on her promise.

Arthur still went along with her plans, even when she instructed a set of chambers be arranged for Morgana to stay in whilst she was unconscious; he was simply dying to object, she could feel it, but he agreed nevertheless.

He also seemed to seek her opinion on this or that matter more frequently than usual; of course, he would always ask for her thoughts when an important decision had to be made, but now he wanted to hear them on rather trivial matters too. She knew what had brought on his uncertainty, but decided, like Merlin had suggested, to give him time. He would soon see his judgement was perfectly reasonable, with a few inevitable exceptions.

The question of magic still remained mostly unresolved though, but at least he wasn't protesting against the idea of the ban being lifted with fervour anymore. She would need to bring it up again, of course, but thought it more sensible to fight one battle at a time.

Arthur didn't accompany her to the dungeons when she went to present the crystal to Morgana, as a council meeting had kept him busy, but he did ensure a squadron of Knights – and Merlin, naturally - escorted her; it was highly unnecessary, but arguing with him on the matter would have been so much more trouble than it was worth.

Morgana sat perfectly still on her bench as the Queen entered, though her eyes did betray a glimmer of impatience and anticipation.

Guinevere unwrapped the crystal of Ganieda, holding it out to Morgana. She expected the latter to simply snatch it away, but she surprised her by slowly raising her hand and wrapping her fingers around the golden chain with care. A certain twinkle of awe shone in her eyes and, though Guinevere could scarcely believe it, an almost imperceptible but nevertheless genuine smile appeared on her lips.

"No one will harm you whilst you are unconscious," Guinevere said, as the alternative would be highly dishonourable, "I can guarantee you that much."

Morgana seemed to pay little attention to the words, her gaze resting solely on the jewel in her grasp; her fingers ran over the smooth surface with reverence before she brought it around her neck, and Guinevere caught sight of the few tears which shone in her eyes.

As soon as the pendant rested over Morgana's heart, her eyes drifted shut and she slumped against the wall; out of the corner of her eye, Guinevere noticed Merlin shiver, undoubtedly under the effect of the crystal's magic.

She was silent for a moment, as something akin to unease settled in her heart; Morgana's cruelty was terrible, but she could not deny both the fleeting happiness and sadness she had seen in her expression, brought to life by the knowledge that she would see her dead loved ones again. A woman as cold as stone, yet a girl who grieved for her lost family; Guinevere wished she could understand. She truly did.

She took a deep breath before turning to the assembled men, who stood just outside the cell.

"I will need help with moving her upstairs," she said, but no man moved as much as an inch, all observing Morgana's unconscious form with apprehension.

Guinevere raised her eyebrows at the lot; the bravest Knights in all of the lands, they called themselves, and yet, not one of them had the courage to approach an unconscious woman, who could not even use her magic to begin with.

None of them were happy to even see Morgana alive, she knew that, and they had good reasons. Percival's entire family, for example, had been killed by Cenred's men when Morgana had taken the throne; he loathed everything to do with her. Still, there was something to be said of the hatred they regarded her with, because when it came down to it, she was not all that different from Uther, whom most of them had pledged loyalty to.

Like father, like daughter, and yet, they called _her_ a heartless witch and _him_ a great King; it hardly seemed fair. Guinevere wondered if that was where some of Morgana's bitterness had stemmed from.

Her eyes went over every man, but they still failed to comply with her request. Finally, it was Merlin who stepped forth, sighing deeply as he stood over Morgana. Guinevere watched as anger mixed with regret in his expression, and he seemed to be holding back tears.

"I wish she knew I did truly care for her," he whispered, seeming to get lost in his memories for a time, before he shook his head and squared his shoulders.

He bent down, carefully slipping one arm beneath her legs while bringing one of hers around his neck, straightening once his hold on her was firm; he stood with her in his arms for a moment, a wistful smile on his lips, and soon nodded for Guinevere to lead the way out.

The men parted as she stepped out, Merlin in tow. They walked up the flights of stairs and down the corridors in silence; everyone would move out of their way, seeming in equal parts shocked and appalled to see the witch out of the dungeons. Some whispered their hope that she was dead, while others wondered what on Earth the Queen was doing.

Guinevere ignored them all as she walked past, coming to a stand in front of the chambers which had been prepared for Morgana. She closed the doors after Merlin, and he went to the bed, laying Morgana's limp form atop it.

"It's strange how peaceful she looks now," he commented when Guinevere came to stand beside him, "I'd forgotten her face could show something other than hatred."

Guinevere nodded her agreement; Morgana did look less troubled in her deep sleep, much like when she had still been kind.

There was silence for a moment before Merlin spoke again, his voice somewhat unsteady. "You asked me if I knew why she became this way…I think I played a bigger part in it than I'd like to admit."

She turned her eyes to his profile, finding that his own were beginning to fill with tears. He took a deep breath as he proceeded, "I betrayed her, I…I didn't want to, but…there was no other way. And she hated me for it."

Guinevere frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"When Morgause brought the Knights of Medhir to Camelot," Merlin resumed his story, seeming to put great effort into making the words leave his mouth, "there was only one way to save the kingdom, to stop them. I had to kill the source of the enchantment which had put everyone to sleep and…the source was Morgana."

His eyes left the bed and went to the ground, as Guinevere stared at him incredulously.

"She didn't even know," he said, "It was Morgause who had done it all, but…I had to kill Morgana. So, I…I poisoned her."

It took him a great deal of courage to admit to this, and he didn't quite dare meet Guinevere's eyes, which he was certain were both stunned and disapproving.

"I never wanted to do it," he forced himself to keep going, "I only wanted to protect her and her secret but…I _had_ to do it. And then I made a deal with Morgause…I would tell her which poison I'd used, if she put an end to her attack, and so she did. But she took Morgana with her, and…well, I can only imagine all the things she told her during that year, the way she…fuelled her hatred and resentment, and made us all into enemies."

He chanced a look at the Queen, finding she regarded with the same incredulous eyes as she did when he had confessed to knowing of Lancelot's true nature upon his return to Camelot. "I had no choice, Gwen."

"There are always choices to be made, Merlin," she stated calmly, "and I am beginning to see a pattern in yours."

He accepted the admonishment, but things were not all that black and white. "She made a choice too," he pointed out, "Injustice and betrayal cannot excuse everything."

"I know," she said quietly, "but neither can fear and loyalty."

She tilted her head to the side as she added, "Because that's why you keep all those secrets, why you do it all to begin with, isn't it? For fear that people will learn of your magic – that they will never understand – and out of your loyalty to Arthur."

"I…suppose so," he agreed meekly; Guinevere certainly seemed to have a peculiar ability to make grown men feel as small as a grain of sand with a few choice words.

She nodded, choosing not to dwell on the topic at the moment; there were still many things she needed to discuss with Merlin, but thought it better to focus on Morgana for the time being.

"If it's not too much trouble, bring me a bowl of water and a washcloth," she asked of him, surprising him with the sudden shift in conversation, "then find one of my maids, preferably Aldyth, and tell her to come here."

"Uh…of course, yeah, I can do that," he agreed, shifting in the spot disconcertedly before heading for the door.

"And, Merlin?" she called over her shoulder, "Fetch me a dress while you're at it, too."

* * *

Once the instructions had been carried out, Guinevere told Merlin to leave her and Aldyth alone, and her maid to lock the doors behind him.

Aldyth was rather shocked by the orders which were given to her next, even going as far as asking the Queen whether she was feeling alright; Guinevere supposed she could not quite fault her for her surprise.

With her maid's help, she removed Morgana's dirty black dress. Her old mistress seemed to favour black now and she supposed it was quite fitting, in a way; a black dress for a black heart.

She settled the bowl on a stool beside the bed, and promptly refused Aldyth's help with washing away the dirt from Morgana's skin. Aldyth tried to protest, as it was a servant's job, not a Queen's; but then, the Queen had once been a servant, and the lady she had tended to was the same one who lay in bed before her now.

The dress Merlin had brought was in shades of deep blue and purple, and befitted a lady; it would seem the young warlock had a good taste in clothing on top of everything else. Once Morgana had been fitted into the dress, with Guinevere and Aldyth's joint efforts, the Queen debated what to do with the witch's hair; it was still as black as the darkest night but God, was it ever a mess of knots and the occasional string of hay.

After some deliberation, Guinevere sent Aldyth for some towels, a comb and a few beauty supplies from the royal chambers; the Queen's own hair could be a stubborn thing at times, prone to knotting in impossible ways, and she had a few mixtures which helped her sort out the mess. She supposed she would need them all if she was to remedy the mess that was _Morgana's_ hair.

Aldyth complied with the request, steeping out, and when she returned, she was accompanied by the King.

Guinevere nearly smiled at his wide-eyed expression, asking Aldyth to leave them.

Once the doors were closed behind the maid, Guinevere set out her supplies on the bed, carefully slipping a towel under Morgana's head, before taking a seat on the mattress herself.

"I thought your maid was exaggerating," Arthur spoke after a moment, "but she might have understated it, actually."

"What did she say?"

"Well, not much of it made sense, but she seems to think you are possessed or something such."

Guinevere chuckled. "Has she started praying for my soul yet?"

"I'm not sure, but when she does, I might just join her," he said, frowning as he observed her work, "Guinevere, what on Earth are you doing?"

"I'm combing her hair," she stated simply, unscrewing one of the vial's caps and pouring the mixture onto her palm, subsequently applying it to Morgana's hair. "I need to comb it before I wash it properly," she explained further, "and I'm not even sure it can be done without something as drastic as magic, mind you; these knots are dreadful."

Arthur stared at her as if she had gone mad; perhaps Aldyth wasn't all that off-mark in her assumptions of possession.

"Alright, then _why_ are you doing…what you're doing?" he prodded further, feeling disconcerted; Guinevere was discussing the matter of Morgana's hair – of all things – as if she were still her maidservant and her biggest problem was to sort out her mistress's locks before a feast.

The question made Guinevere pause in her movements, and she sighed as she responded, "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. Maybe it's because I hate seeing her this way, I don't know."

"I know what promise you made to Gorlois, but this is a kindness she does not deserve," Arthur said softly, "Even putting her in these chambers is too kind, much less giving her clothes and washing her hair and…whatever it is that you're doing."

She was quiet for a moment, staring at Morgana with a look Arthur couldn't quite decipher, and took a deep breath as she resumed her fingers' movement through his sister's hair. "Well, it can't do any harm, can it?" she queried with a shrug, reaching for the comb once the mixture had settled in.

"Yes, it can," he countered quietly, "when _you_ are disappointed by her ungratefulness once she wakes."

Still, her determination didn't wane and he sighed quietly; he would hate to see her hurt by Morgana again. Few things were worse than building up hope only to watch it die in the end.

"She is past redemption, Guinevere," he tried again, wishing to spare her the disappointment she was certain to feel should she start believing in Morgana's non-existent good heart again.

She nodded, knowing he might very well be right on this one. Still, Uther was past redemption too – and she had proof of that– but she had tended to _him_, hadn't she?

"Maybe," she conceded, "but I still wish to understand. I do understand part of it, but…I don't quite understand her cruelty. Perhaps she will tell me, with the right approach."

"You are too kind to understand cruelty."

"She was kind once too," she countered, though she did smile at the compliment, "and I can't imagine what it would take to twist her heart in such a way, to make her so bitter."

Arthur knew there was little he could do to deter her from her goal now; still, he wanted to soften the inevitable blow.

"Just…don't get your hopes up," he requested, "I know how it would pain you to realise she truly has no heart anymore."

"The strange part is, I think she does," Guinevere said sadly, "I think Gorlois may have been right. You didn't see her face when I gave her the crystal…she may be cruel, but she misses her family. The man she called her father, her mother and her sister…and those who died for their magic, I would think she considers them her own too."

She shrugged as she added, "And I can't dismiss others' grief just because their manner is different to mine."

Arthur couldn't help but smile; she cared more for others' grief than anyone he knew. She had cared for his father, when he had killed her own, because his condition had grieved _him_; she wished to lift the ban on magic because Camelot's laws grieved those who had it, and she had redefined rules of warfare because they would have grieved the people of a kingdom that was not even her own.

Still, he feared her good heart would keep causing her pain, because not many would care for others' grief like she did, only their own.

He put an arm around her shoulders, halting her movements momentarily as he bent down to press a soothing kiss to the side of her head. "She doesn't deserve your care or your faith."

She shrugged once more; perhaps not, but it was what she did best, wasn't it? To care for those who would not care for her, or to believe in those who would not believe in her.

Not that she would want it any other way, really; she rather liked to wake with hope and love in her heart each day, rather than with bitterness and hatred. She was not naïve by any means, and she knew what sort of darkness dwelled in Morgana's heart now; she still preferred to think of the goodness which had once filled it.

There was no telling what would happen once Morgana awoke, but things could not be any worse than they already were.

* * *

**A/N: I know what you're thinking, Gwen is going too easy on Morgana. The fact that my Morgana/Gwen feelings cannot be tamed aside, I still don't like the simplistically black and white way Morgana ended up being portrayed on the show, or the fact that Gwen had nothing to say on the subject of Morgana's transformation, other than 'omigod, she has magic, she's evil!' or, and I'm paraphrasing her line from 5x11 here, 'yeah, the chick's brazen'. Keeping it black and white and categorically separated is boring, so I'll go as grey as I can. Besides, I do think Morgana had a heart. Say what you will, but she loved Aithusa and she loved Mordred. **

**Anyway, I hope you still enjoyed the chapter :)**


	32. The Heart of a Pendragon

Three days passed and Morgana had still not woken. Gaius had told them it could very well be a full week before she did, as the magic of a High Priestess had made her body stronger.

Guinevere had managed to sort out her hair – by a possible miracle – and had left her then, ensuring someone stood watch over her at all times; she could not be left unguarded. It was quite an odd thing to see her clean and dressed in finery as she had once been, though; one could almost forget all that had happened in the past few years.

The Queen was careful _not_ to forget, though her King still thought it wise to remind her whenever the subject arose; as if she could forget the pain and misery Morgana had brought them all for so long.

The wait did offer a respite, and Arthur seemed determined to make good use of the time.

When Guinevere came to the royal chambers on the third evening, she found that the light in the room was dimmer than usual, and that only the fireplace sparked with flames; a wide variety of blankets and plush pillows and cushions was arranged before it, with an even grander assortment of foods and beverages scattered about. And before the elaborate setting stood her husband, with a rather proud grin on his face.

So, that was why she had not seen him all day; she should have known he had some scheme planned. She knew it was in both their best interests to lock the doors behind her.

"I thought we could have a night just to ourselves," he said as she approached, "Now, I wanted us to ride out somewhere nice, but since it's dreadfully cold and we would probably freeze to death, I had to make do with what I had."

He gestured in a wide circle to their surroundings, and she could not help her wide smile. "So, it was you who arranged it all?" she queried, "All by yourself, without _any_ help from Merlin whatsoever?"

"All done with my own two hands, milady."

She did not believe that for a single second.

Still, it was a beautiful gesture. Her hands rested on his shoulders, sliding over until her fingers intertwined at the back of his neck; she raised herself higher, pressing a sound kiss to his lips. "It's lovely," she told him with affection as she pulled away, "Thank you."

It seemed to please him greatly that she approved, and his arm held her tightly as he leaned in for another kiss. And another. And just one more.

By the time he remembered the gift he had prepared for her, half the laces of her dress had already been undone and her skirts were wrinkled in his hands.

"Wait," he panted as he broke the kiss, momentarily forgetting the reasons for it again when her eyes lingered on his lips.

Why had he…oh, right, the gift. Yes, the gift.

"I have something for you," he managed to say, bending to retrieve the linen-wrapped present which lay atop the cushions on the floor.

She looked curious as she took it, her eyes widening when she pulled at the edges of the linen handkerchief. She had been gifted with many pieces of jewellery since her crowning – some more perilous than others – but none had been quite this special; she let her fingertips ghost over the wide, hard petals and knew she was touching pure gold.

A flower crafted in gold.

While the golden glint was prominent, the petals were coloured in a rather peculiar shade of lilac and they reflected the light so beautifully.

"I wanted to give you flowers, but there aren't any to be found this time of year," he spoke softly, "so I had one made."

It sounded so simple when he said it like that.

"Here," he said as he lifted the ware from her hands. The precious flower's stem was a long golden wire, reedy enough to be malleable, allowing him to weave it through one of the two thin braids which began at her temples, merging together at the back of her head; he smiled contently when the ornament was in place, and the flower glowed in contrast to her dark hair.

And soon, she was wearing nothing _but_ the flower.

It was not quite the way Arthur had envisioned the evening to go; well, not so quickly, anyway. He tried – chivalrously, while she undressed him - to draw her attention to the food and wine, but she heeded none of his words, stopping them altogether with a kiss when they no longer made any sense at all.

She lowered herself atop the soft cushions and coverlets, and he followed eagerly, upsetting the meticulously staged treats they were to have. She giggled when, amidst the flurry of movement, her hand accidentally dipped into the jar of warm honey he had shoved out of the way carelessly and the savoury treat began trickling down her palm. She made to wipe it against the blankets but he caught her wrist, choosing to remove the sweet coating with his mouth instead.

And then he got ideas.

Not that she minded, really. His fingers drew patterns in honey across her skin and his lips and tongue retraced their trail, from her collarbone to her hip; the crackling fire made her impossibly warm, and so did his touch.

It seemed so long since they were together like this last, though it had only been a couple of weeks. But they were endless, painful weeks, full of revelations which made their both their hearts heavier and lighter at the same time; Guinevere felt as though she had lived through years without him truly by her side.

Because that was all she had ever wanted, really; just him. The crown, the kingdom, the enemies and the secrets which linked them all together, they were nothing but a load she needed to carry along for the sake of having him; of course, the load had become harder to bear in the past weeks, though it seemed laughably inconsequent now, as they held each other tightly before the fire.

Guinevere wasn't quite sure which burned hotter, the flames or her own skin. Arthur was a blaze in his own right too, and he sounded nearly feverish as he whispered words of sentiment against her skin; most came out slurred and broken, but she heard him speak of his love and how dear he held her, how Camelot meant nothing without her, and how all he had built – all of it – was for her.

It was only afterwards, as they lay on their sides, face to face, that she truly remembered those last few words, and they struck her as somewhat of an overstatement.

Her head rested upon his outstretched arm while her leg hugged his hip, and his free hand would trace aimless shapes down the length of her body, or up and down the curve of her spine.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, my love?"

She smiled at the endearment, her heart as warmed as it would always be by the softness in his eyes as they went over her features.

"What you said," she began quietly and rather curiously, "about how all you have built was for me…what does it mean?"

He seemed almost surprised by the question, and it only added to her confusion when his eyes left hers and he licked his lips somewhat nervously. With a soft sigh, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him; she hovered above him now, and his gaze still wandered away from hers.

"Just that, really," he spoke after a time, but found the words to be a tad inaccurate as they passed his lips, so he amended, "Well, not quite; I didn't actually think you would know it, or see it, at the time."

His voice was low and, Guinevere noted, almost anxious. He reached for her hand then, running his thumb over the ring which graced it absently.

"After you set for Nemeth, the first time," he went on, keeping his eyes firmly on their joined hands, "I learned of my uncle's treachery, and I threw him in the dungeons; then I sent Delbert there, to fool him into telling us what he knew."

Guinevere's mouth quirked at the corner; she knew the story, as it had been relayed to her by the people of Camelot, when they had been given shelter from battle in Nemeth. "It was a brilliant idea," she said, but he seemed to draw less satisfaction from the compliment than he should have.

"Indeed," he agreed, "because it was more yours than mine."

Her brow creased slightly; his words made no sense. She had already been in Nemeth then, leagues away.

"I…I didn't know what to do," he resumed his speech, "so Merlin said I should think as you would, to find a way to make my uncle speak."

Her frown disappeared, now replaced with an expression of momentary surprise; he had never told her this before.

"And I did, I…I knew you would say to trick him, and so I arranged it."

She nodded slowly; it was flattering to learn he would turn to her counsel even when she was not present, but it still didn't quite explain his earlier declaration.

He cleared his throat before proceeding. "Then the battle came, Delbert died and…you left for Nemeth again. And after…well, _I_ left _you_. Because I…wasn't good enough, not for you. "

Guinevere kept silent, letting him gather his thoughts. His voice, though still low, had grown thicker and she knew it was not easy for him to remember all these things now.

"When I returned to Camelot, I swore I would do better," he continued, toying with her ring, "I swore I would…be the kind of King you always said I was. And everything I did – the Round Table, the tax changes, the strengthened alliances," he paused for a moment, chewing on his lip, before softly saying, "was because you would have approved. You would have been…proud of me."

His admission was quiet and nearly timid, and Guinevere found that it left her tongue-tied. His eyes were downcast but the flickering flames made the tears which brimmed them glimmer faintly, and she felt her own eyes begin to burn in kind.

"Every time I thought of something, I wondered what you would think, if it would make _you_ proud, and…well, if it would, then it had to be a good idea."

A low sniffle twitched his nose, and he cleared his throat once more to rid himself of the lump which had formed there, one of his shoulders moving in a shrug as he concluded, "So, in a way, it was all for you. I…just wanted to make you proud."

She could feel his heart beat more rapidly beneath her own and the tears shimmer more prominently at the corners of his eyes, and she knew exactly what he was going to say next.

"And lately, all I've done is disappoint you."

He shut his eyes tight as the words left his mouth and he turned his head to the side, almost as if he sought to hide himself in the hair which had fallen over her shoulder. A tear managed to escape him, running down his temple, and his jaw clenched out of anger for allowing himself to act so.

Guinevere swallowed tightly, blinking against her own tears; she took her hand out of his grasp gently, raising it to wipe at the stubborn tear with the pad of her thumb. "You've never disappointed me, Arthur," she told him kindly, and a small noise, which sounded remarkably like a broken little scoff, left his throat.

"It's dishonourable for a Queen to lie, Guinevere," he commented quietly as he kept his eyes closed, and she shook her head slightly as she responded, "I am not a liar."

"Actually, you're a great one, when you want to be."

His tone made it sound like a compliment and she nearly smiled; she also supposed she couldn't quite argue with that assessment. She had, rather expertly, lied her way out of many precarious situations over the years.

"I can lie," she conceded, "but not to you; not about this."

He offered no reply, only burrowing his face deeper into her curls. With a pained sniffle, she brought her fingers to his hair, threading through the slightly damp strands with a light touch; such a silly man he was, unable to see his own worth when it was actually obvious.

"All those great ideas were _your_ doing," she said, "Just because I would have approved does not make them mine."

She let her body rest against his more supplely, feeling his heart's speed quicken and his arm tighten around her waist; she brought her face closer to his too, and her lips brushed his temple.

"You _are_ a great King," she whispered with certainty, as her hand left his hair and lowered to his chest, "with a great heart," she kissed his jaw and his cheek, and nuzzled his nose with hers lightly, "and I love you for it," her lips reached the corner of his mouth, just as her hand drifted along his stomach and down to his hip, "so much more than you know."

His eyes opened slowly, though they were still bright from tears; she smiled through her own, whispering her love once more before lowering her lips to his firmly. A faint, choked grunt came from his throat as he responded to the kiss, holding her to his body tightly; his free hand traced a line from her cheek, down her neck and shoulder, to her thigh, gripping it. He pressed her closer still and the nudging grew more and more insistent, until she was on her back again, and he between her legs.

She idly took note of the clattering of plates and goblets as their frenzied movements upon the blankets disrupted them; they were never going to get to that food.

* * *

The cold sun roused Arthur from his sleep, and he did his best to fend his wakefulness off; the bed was too comfortable. To spite the rude sunlight, he tightened his hold around the softness in his arms, frowning when he felt it was a tad _too_ soft to be his love.

He popped one eye open, grumbling when he realised he was clutching a pillow. "You're not Guinevere," he muttered at the offending object, throwing it aside before rubbing his eyes.

Looking around the room, he saw Guinevere – already dressed and ready to face the day – standing by the fireplace with his manservant, trying to help him with the mess. He was pleased to see Merlin was having none of it, dancing out of her reach when she made to assist, and even more so to see she had used the flower he had gifted her with as a hairpin, where it rested snuggly at the back of her head.

He couldn't quite tell when they had even made it to the bed, really; it all became a bit of a blur at one point, especially after they had finally helped themselves to the wine. They hadn't really touched much of the food though, which he assumed was what Merlin was complaining about now. He couldn't really hear his and Guinevere's hushed conversation.

"What are you gossiping about?" he queried loudly, making Merlin drop all the dishes he had gathered with a thundering clatter.

Guinevere cringed at the sound but laughed, while Merlin glared at Arthur. "About what a pompous, lazy arse you are," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he bent to gather the dishes again.

"Well, it serves you right then, doesn't it?" Arthur said with satisfaction, sitting up and rolling his shoulders with a groan. Guinevere smiled as she approached him, mussing his already disarrayed hair even further in affection.

"You need to get dressed," she told him, pointing to the changing screen where his clothes had already been laid out for him, "It's nearly midday, you know."

He only obeyed after a long kiss, to his wife's amusement and Merlin's blush.

For the rest of the day, even with the tiresome meetings and endless idle chatter, he remained in an exceptionally good mood. Almost giddy, as it was.

And he remained in such high spirits for the length of the week, until Aldyth bursting through the royal chambers' doors with haste disrupted the calmness one afternoon.

He and Guinevere had been having their lunch, discussing nothing in particular, when her maid came rushing in without as much as a knock.

"Milady," she said in a rush, "you must come with me, please."

Guinevere's eyes widened, and she exchanged a look with her husband before they both rose to their feet. There was only one reason to explain Aldyth's agitation; Morgana.

It had been nearly eight days now since she had put on the crystal, stretching the time limit Gaius had set, and Arthur had to bite his tongue on several occasions, lest a comment about how he hoped she would _never_ wake pass his lips. He was certain Guinevere would chide him for it.

"What's happened?" the Queen queried as they rushed down the hallways, joined by Merlin, who had come rushing after having heard of the commotion himself.

"She's woken up," Aldyth explained agitatedly, and Arthur swallowed down the urge to voice his disappointment, "and it was fine, I think, she didn't say a thing, but then she began screaming and…"

Her voice trailed off, and she clutched a hand to her heart. "It's a horrible thing to see, milady."

Guinevere picked up her pace at the words, and sounds of Morgana's cries reached her ears even before she stood at the doors of the chambers she was in. The entrance to the room was clustered by Knights and maids, who all stood unmoving and in shock, none of them daring to cross the threshold.

They parted for the King and Queen, but both found their own movements halt at the sight.

The sheets were upturned and bundled, hanging half-off the bed, while all the light furniture – the chairs and decorations – littered the floor, and the crystal of Ganieda glittered eerily under the sun's light upon the ground. And, amidst the mess, at the foot of the bed, was Morgana. She was on her knees, her hands clutching at her hair and her dress, while cries and screams left her mouth.

Guinevere had never heard anyone cry like that before.

The sound seemed to resonate around the room, and seep into her blood until it ran cold and chills raced through her flesh; she felt the urge to cover her ears.

Her hands rose to her mouth instead, and her ears remained exposed to the wails and sobs; she felt as though she was not fit to comprehend this kind of sorrow, for it was too great and foreign to grasp. It brought tears to her eyes, and tugged at her helpless heart.

She moved forward on instinct and, even though Arthur's arm shot out to stop her, stepped inside, dropping to her own knees before Morgana. She had no idea what to say or do; she only knew she had to make these cries stop.

Her hands moved to Morgana's shoulders, and the latter's loud cries seemed to turn into quieter sobs. Her lips trembled and twitched in an anger Guinevere could not begin to understand, and her eyes shone with pain and madness as tears spilled down her cheeks.

A lost soul, if the Queen had ever seen one.

Her eyes dropped to Morgana's hands, and the wrist where the golden bracelet which bound her powers gripped like a shackle. The skin there was chaffed and red, and she knew it was because Morgana had tugged at it until she had drawn blood, but could never get it off because only her brother held that power.

Guinevere's mouth opened and closed helplessly, and she could find no words to say to the other woman. At a loss of a solution, she leaned closer and brought her arms around Morgana in a tight hug; anything to make the cries stop.

She was almost surprised when she wasn't pushed away, and Morgana only sobbed into her shoulder. Her hands tightened in the witch's hair, now silken once more, and she held her closer. She closed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together to keep her own tears from building further; she had expected many things to greet her upon Morgana's awakening, but never this.

No true solution came to her either, and she found herself too distraught to think of one, so she reverted to old instincts and habits. "Shh," she soothed senselessly, "I'm here, Morgana, I'm here, there's nothing to be frightened of."

She had spoken the words so many times before, when Morgana's nightmares would make her cry out in the dead of night, and they came almost naturally. Her old friend seemed to be uttering words of her own, but they were distorted, muffled further as they were spoken into Guinevere's shoulder, and they made no sense. The only thing she understood was the pain and the anger.

With a deep breath, Guinevere turned to look over her shoulder, at the crowd of onlookers by the doors. No one made a single sound or movement, but all seemed transfixed by the sight before them. Some Knights were grave but torn between their satisfaction at seeing the witch suffer and their unease at wishing such pain to another; others looked scared, much like the few maids, who clung either onto each other or to the Knights' arms. The King himself stood at the front, and he almost seemed confused; his jaw was slack and his expression blank, except for the small furrow in his brow.

Merlin appeared to be the most affected of them all. He was silent but tears gathered in his eyes and, after a moment, he bowed his head.

Guinevere watched them all, swallowing tightly before mouthing a silent request for them to leave. They seemed reluctant, no one more so than Arthur, but after her firm nod, complied.

"I…I'll bring some food and water," Merlin said quietly, "and…something for her wrist, too."

He disappeared out of sight then, leaving the Queen and Morgana alone. The latter seemed to have calmed down a fraction, but Guinevere waited for her sobs to subside further, muttering soothing nonsense which probably held no meaning to Morgana into her hair.

It seemed a long time before she finally grew more composed, and Guinevere slowly helped her to her feet and back to the bed. Her legs were weak as was to be expected, and she practically fell onto the mattress. Guinevere rearranged the sheets around her the best she could with somewhat trembling hands, throwing the blankets over her legs next. Morgana sat with her back supported against the headboard, staring into the distance with a haunted look Guinevere wasn't quite sure she wished to understand.

She fought the urge to wipe at the dry trail of tears on Morgana's cheeks; they made her seem even madder than the look in her eyes, and it unnerved Guinevere greatly.

Still, she settled for simply dragging a chair to the bedside and keeping quiet, waiting for Morgana to speak.

Merlin came and went, looking about just as weary as Guinevere felt, but Morgana still hadn't moved. Eager to do at least something, the Queen reached for the witch's hurt hand – slowly, as though approaching a frightened child – and began to rinse out the gashes with clean water. There was no way to remove the bracelet and do the job properly, but it would have to do. She applied an ointment Merlin had brought too, wrapping the wrist in a fresh cloth once she was finished.

During the entire process, not as much as a pip was to be heard from Morgana.

Guinevere wanted to offer her food or water, but found herself too unsettled to break the silence first; so she simply sat there, staring at Morgana apprehensively while, in turn, the latter stared at no particular point at the far end of the room.

She nearly jumped out of her own skin when the other woman finally spoke.

"My father is ashamed of me."

It was a quiet admission, and though it certainly conveyed sadness, there was also a certain edge of anger to it.

Guinevere blinked, almost unsure if Morgana had even spoken, and even more uncertain of whether she was expected to give an answer.

"Uh," she began hesitantly, clearing her throat as she gathered her wits about her; this was the opportunity she had wished for, one that would allow her to speak with Morgana frankly. She straightened in her chair. "Can you really blame him?" she queried, keeping her voice steady and neutral, "He told me he raised you to be kind and compassionate; it breaks his heart to know you have become cruel instead."

Morgana's lip twitched. "The enemy can be shown no mercy," she said, "It's what Uther taught me."

Guinevere nearly laughed. "See, that's what I don't understand," she let out impulsively, "You would follow the ways of the man you despise above all others?"

"He was cruel to my kind," Morgana retorted, her tone growing increasingly tinged with animosity, "Why should I be any different to his?"

"An eye for an eye, I know how it goes," Guinevere acknowledged the harsh yet simplistic logic, "but there were other ways, Morgana."

The witch chuckled rather madly. "What other ways?" she spat, "Was I to kindly _ask_ for the slaughter to stop?"

"No," Guinevere said simply, "but you were not to raise hell either, Morgana. Do you have any idea what sort of suffering you have caused? To your friends – because we were, you know. We were your friends."

Morgana scoffed. "My friends?" she echoed bitterly, "My dear brother, who doesn't have a mind of his own, indulging your whims now as he did Uther's? You, who cheered when druids were butchered like animals so that I would be dragged back to Camelot, and then betrayed me? Or Merlin, who poisoned me, and then condemned my sister to a slow and painful death?"

Guinevere swallowed thickly, sighing. "You make it sound as if we never cared," she spoke sadly, "but we did. I know _I_ did."

"You would have thrown me to the wolves the first chance you got, if I had told you of my magic."

She shook her head. "No, never you," she said, "Not when we were friends. But then you changed, and I didn't recognise you anymore…you scared me, Morgana. You and your magic, and I didn't understand. I _still_ don't understand."

Morgana's scornful expression faltered for a moment, but she seemed to will it back into place quickly. Her lips loosened then and she began talking, and the words which left her mouth felt like poison. Her hatred was poisonous and she reminded Guinevere of a snake hissing and spewing its venom, and she felt as though it crawled under her skin and clawed at her heart.

The witch wished them all pain beyond imagining, wished for them to writhe in agony as they drew their last breaths and there was a smile, like a twisted joy, behind such words; Guinevere learned just how much pleasure a broken, darkened soul could derive from cruelty. Her desire for vengeance was terrible.

But the more she spoke, the more it seemed like she was telling herself – _reminding_ herself – of it, rather than Guinevere. Her mouth twisted and her teeth gritted against the tears, but Guinevere sensed a certain desperation in her, a desperation to make all the words remain true and her belief in revenge maintained.

The Queen supposed it was hardly surprising. After one had committed all those crimes and inflicted all that pain, how could they go back? Admitting to being wrong after having been so cruel; Guinevere could not imagine the pain it would bring to one's conscience. It had to be easier, she surmised, to simply go along, until the point of no return. A bitter end was easier than a painful beginning.

She thought back on Uther and wondered if he had been the same as Morgana was now. If, after he had drowned children and forced others to watch their parents burn alive, he had convinced himself he was right, no matter what; after such horrors, the lie had to be easier to live with.

But that hadn't saved him from the spirits' wrath, and Guinevere was certain Morgana knew it too; she had to have seen him there, alone and abandoned just outside the gates of an endless sea of souls. She was also certain Morgana didn't wish to share his fate.

_I want what is rightfully mine_, she kept repeating, almost as a prayer. Guinevere recognised the words had nearly lost their meaning.

She could not say how long Morgana spoke for, but she eventually quieted down again; she seemed exhausted. Guinevere had remained silent throughout the other woman's speech but, after it was finished, summoned the strength to remain composed. There were things – many things – she wished to say as well, but thought the exchange they had just had was almost more than she could handle for a day. She told Morgana to help herself to the food, telling her she would return once she was rested; she could swear Morgana seemed relieved to hear the words.

Guinevere left her – to sleep or plot her revenge, whichever she preferred – and instructed guards to keep watch, though they had already received orders from the King. There were six of them, actually, along with four Knights; one would think they were guarding the kingdom's border in a time of war rather than a powerless sorceress.

She didn't even have the strength to shake her head at them.

Moving down the hallways in direction of the royal chambers, she felt as though Morgana's hatred followed her. It was nearly a force in its own right, almost palpable to the touch, and Guinevere had the childish urge to hide from it like a little girl; it was a horrible thing to experience, even as a bystander, and Guinevere didn't like it. Not one bit.

Arthur waited for her in their chambers. Well, paced was more like it.

He stilled when she entered, appraising her expression and sighing at how troubled she seemed.

She immediately went to him, bringing her arms around him tightly; she felt like she needed some warmth now, to chase away the biting coldness of Morgana's hatred which seemed to linger on her skin.

Arthur embraced her gladly, dropping a small kiss to her hair as he ran his hands over her back soothingly. He knew this had been a bad idea. It seemed like a very poor time to say 'I told you so', though.

"I must admit that I didn't quite prepare myself for this," she muttered against his chest, sighing deeply, "I expected many things to happen but…"

Her sentence remained unfinished but it was obvious she was quite shaken by her time with Morgana.

"I didn't quite expect to find her…the way we found we found her, either," he had to admit as well and, though the sight of Morgana crying on her knees had made him terribly uneasy, he knew it had affected Guinevere much more.

"It's not just that," she said quietly, "I spoke to her…well, she did most of the talking, really. It was…not pleasant, to say the least."

Arthur felt her shudder against him, frowning in displeasure; he wished she would not get this upset over someone who could not even begin to deserve her compassion. "What did she say?"

"I'd rather not even remember the words, much less repeat them," she told him, taking a deep breath as she pulled away slightly, bringing her hands to his shoulders, "The hatred she feels, I…it's just so…so…_ugly_."

He nearly smiled at her choice of words; of course Guinevere would equal hatred to ugliness.

And though he wished he could have spared her the disappointment, he was rather relieved that she had seen there was no more hope for Morgana by herself.

Or so he thought.

"There's no point in delaying it anymore," he said, "I'll have her executed at dawn."

But Guinevere shook her head. "You don't want to see her dead."

His response was a mirthless, bitter chuckle. "Believe me, I do."

"No, you don't," she repeated, almost anxiously. His frown returned as he realised her expression matched her tone, and he stared at her in confusion.

A moment later, he bowed his head as he understood; he sounded like her. Like Morgana.

But bitterness came so easily. The anger, the resentment and everything else it entailed, they came so easily and it seemed almost natural; there were few things that could make a man's blood run with more life than the desire for retaliation.

Or a woman's blood, as his sweet, sweet sister had demonstrated. But not Guinevere's; she had never condoned it. She would always rather forgive than resent, which was something that didn't come naturally to him. Forgiving was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, and there were many things he knew he could _never_ forgive. But Guinevere had always been one for forgiveness and, Arthur surmised, that probably made her the strongest of them all.

He gathered her hands in his impulsively, kissing them in respect.

"I won't see her dead," he agreed at length, and the slight tension in her shoulders eased. "But that means she remains our prisoner," he added, "and I can't grant her the luxury of staying in the palace's chambers; she will have to be returned to the dungeons."

Guinevere nodded. "I know," she said, though the idea did seem to make her a tad uneasy, "but let her stay in the chambers for a day or two. Just until she regains some of her strength; it's very exhausting, wearing that crystal."

He conceded to that request, but there was still something that didn't seem quite clear to him. "What exactly do you want to do with her, Guinevere?"

She bit her lip, seeming to mull over her thoughts. "Her hatred is great, but I do believe she still has a heart, even more than I did before."

He frowned. Well, that just made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"I'm confused," he began slowly, "You just said you'd rather not even remember her words because they were so full of hate."

She shrugged. "They were. But she wasn't indifferent to whatever happened in the spirit world, and I think that, maybe, if I give her the right kind of encouragement, things might change. "

"You have something specific in mind?"

"Not quite sure yet, but I'll think of something."

He would rather she not think of Morgana at all, but who was he to stop Queen Guinevere from doing…anything, really?

Of course, he still thought she was fighting a losing battle, but he would support – within acceptable limits of reason – her in her decision, be in victory or defeat. Even though he was certain defeat was inevitable.

Still, Guinevere was not one to give up easily, as further proven by the next subject she brought up.

"I know you would rather not speak of this now," she said, "but I must ask. Have you given any more thought as to what's to be done about the laws against magic?"

He sighed; he knew he could not avoid it forever. A few more days would have been nice, though. Perhaps a few weeks. Or months. Or years. A decade would have been marvellous.

Grasping her hands more tightly, he spoke, "I have, actually. Some nights, I've driven myself near mad thinking about it…but I'm still not sure."

He lowered his eyes to their hands then, unwilling to meet hers should they show disappointment.

She remained silent for a moment, but her voice was soft as she queried, "Why not?"

"You know why, Guinevere."

"Fair enough," she conceded, "But if your reasons for keeping magic outlawed are so sound, why do you still lose sleep over it?"

Her tone was knowing, and he was certain she understood exactly what went through his mind; on some occasions, he had the feeling she could read his every thought. If he didn't know any better, he would have supported the rumours claiming she had magic of her own.

He knew which admission she wished him to voice aloud, though. "Because it's not fair," he finally allowed the words to pass his lips, "What my father did was a terrible injustice and I can't forget that, no matter how hard I try."

He chanced a look at her face, and found the beginnings of a smile on her lips. He knew his next words would wipe it off, though. "But I fear those with magic will still seek vengeance, and I can't overlook that risk. Morgana is the image of such people; how can I allow those such as her to use their sorcery freely?"

As predicted, her smile did falter. "Not everyone is like Morgana," she countered, though her tone was not harsh, "And just because they are free to use magic does not mean they are not bound by other laws; laws against the likes of murder and treason."

"And how are we to make them abide by those laws? You said it yourself, Guinevere, we know nothing of sorcery."

"It doesn't mean we can't learn. Gaius alone is a treasury of knowledge. So are the druids - and Kilgharrah too, if you ask nicely. And don't forget the young warlock; if he is free, I am certain the first he'll do is come before you to pledge his loyalty in person."

She made it sound so simple, easy even. Still, his doubts lingered.

His eyes went back to the ground, and he heard her sigh quietly before he felt her hands on his cheeks.

"Arthur," she said softly, "forget my words, or Morgana's, or your father's; what do _you_ want?"

"A fair and just kingdom," he spoke almost miserably. It was all he wanted for Camelot to gain from his reign, really; prosperity and justice and peace, and to set a path for brighter times. But that required change – colossal change – and change was not only difficult but also dangerous, and it was a double-edged sword. He would never call himself a coward, but he wasn't sure he possessed the courage – or the confidence – to see _this_ particular change through. That heart of his Guinevere praised so greatly wanted to make it, and his instincts stood by it, but his mind would show him an endless row of dark pits along the way, and made him fear each and every one.

But Guinevere was looking at him with hope and pride, and he never wanted to disappoint her again.

He nodded his consent; he would trudge along this road they had paved, wherever it led. And God help him.


	33. The Word of the Witch

When Guinevere went to Morgana the next day, she found the latter staring disdainfully at her wrapped wrist.

Everyone wanted to see the witch suffer, but Guinevere surmised that there could be no greater punishment for a High Priestess than to be stripped of her magic. That too, in itself, was a cruelty.

"Things will change, Morgana," she found herself saying, but was given no reply. She bustled about the room then, rearranging the curtains and chairs needlessly; though Morgana didn't speak up, Guinevere had a feeling she did not mind the company either – even if it was that of the serving girl who had 'stolen her crown'.

Merlin had said he thought Morgana to be lonely once, and Guinevere was quite certain it remained so even now. The cruel witch who had the soul of a lonely girl.

To be completely alone was a horrible thing, and Guinevere could only imagine how Morgana had spent her days, in her hovel before as she did in her cell now, alone with nothing but her poisonous thoughts, and no one there to make them stop.

So, she began chatting by herself, talking about the druids and Maerwynn, and how Camelot's laws were about to change – careful not to bring up Arthur's recent doubts on the matter – in a possibly futile hope of making Morgana see things differently.

It wasn't until she mentioned the dragons in passing that Morgana lifted her head, almost curiously. Guinevere didn't linger on the subject, but Morgana's reaction did give her an idea.

That night, Guinevere sought Merlin out, after Arthur had already gone to bed and his snores indicated he was in a deep sleep.

Gaius too was fast asleep, so she and the warlock stood outside the physician's quarters, talking in hushed voices.

"So, what's your plan?" he queried after she mentioned having an idea, and she bit her lip as she considered the best approach. Finally, she simply opted for a direct one.

"I would like for her to meet Aithusa."

Merlin's jaw promptly dropped.

"Hear me out," Guinevere rushed to continue when he made to protest, "She has no love for any of us, but I believe she does for creatures of magic. It caught her attention, when I mentioned dragons. Besides, Aithusa is so sweet; he could melt even the hardest of hearts. And if her heart softens even a little, then maybe we can actually speak as reasonable people, rather than sworn enemies."

Her argument made sense, but he still didn't like. "I don't want to put Aithusa in danger," he said, "He's still very young."

"She wouldn't harm him. And besides, _you_ are the Dragonlord; Aithusa's allegiance is to you."

"All right," he conceded to that point, "but how do you propose we set up that meeting? We can't take Morgana _out_side the castle, and Aithusa can't go _in_side it."

"I was hoping you could tell him to come to the top of the South Tower," she suggested, "It is high enough so no one will spot him from the ground, and it faces away from the courtyard too. No one will see him, and I'm sure we can manage to bring Morgana up there."

He deliberated, bit his lip, thought of all the possible counterarguments, before finally sighing. "Fine," he agreed, "I'll tell him to come. But when Kilgharrah tries to claw _my_ eyes out, it will be _your_ fault."

It was mostly – emphasis on 'mostly' – meant in jest, and Guinevere smiled in the darkness of the hallway. "If something goes wrong, I will take the blame," she assured nevertheless, growing serious as she added, "I don't take this lightly, Merlin. It's not just some silly game, or a fickle Queen's whim to me."

"I never thought it was," he told her sincerely, "What I _do_ think, is that big, kind heart of yours will be the death of you."

She shrugged. "Then so be it."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, before noticing her expression had grown pensive; it was rather hard to distinguish her features properly in the dark, but he would know that little crease in her brow anywhere, dark or not.

"What is it?"

She sighed. "I want to ask you a few things," she admitted, "but I'm not sure I want to know the answers."

When she phrased it like that, he wasn't sure _he_ wanted her to know either. Yet, he still asked, "What do you want to know?"

"When I was in the spirit world," she began slowly, "Nimueh said you'd killed her. Is that true?"

It took him a moment to find his voice; he had imagined a wide array of possible questions, but not that one. At length, he nodded. "It is," he affirmed, "but it was to save Gaius."

He gave her the details then, from Arthur's bite by the Questing Beast – to which she had curiously giggled under her breath – to all the events leading to the Isle of the Blessed, where he had struck Nimueh down.

Then, she asked about Morgause and he told her everything of her too, about how anyone who meddled with the Cup of Life paid a terrible price and that Morgause's, as the sorceress who had wielded its power, was a slow death. He also told her, though this was only a suspicion of his, that it was Morgause Morgana had sacrificed to tear the veil between the worlds. That particular detail appeared to upset Gwen more than any of the rest, but she seemed to handle all the new information quite well.

It was still immensely strange for Merlin to speak of all these things to her. He kept waiting either for her to put his head on a spike or for himself to be woken from a peculiar dream, but neither scenario came true. Of course, then he wondered why it had taken him this long to speak to her in the first place.

She understood. She didn't necessarily approve of everything, but she understood. And he didn't even have to ask her to keep the secrets, because he knew she would never tell. She didn't press him to tell Arthur either; she only made it clear he would tell him at some point.

After that, she asked him about his father.

"I only knew him for a couple of days before he died," he said after having finished the tale of his and Arthur's quest to find Balinor, "I wish I'd had more time with him."

"I am sorry, Merlin," she told him kindly, and he knew her compassion was genuine, "For what it's worth, he is very proud of you."

He smiled at that and, unable to resist the urge, began talking about Freya. He hadn't told anyone of her much, not really; Gaius knew, of course, but he yearned for the kind of solace only Gwen was known to give.

She listened to it all, from how he had rescued her from a cage and her terrible curse, to how she had come to be wounded; though she didn't speak, he knew her eyes were filled with tears, as were his own.

"We said we wanted to run away together, somewhere with a lake," he reminisced painfully but lovingly, "so I carried her to the lake of Avalon, and I gave her a burial there. She is the spirit of those waters now, you know," he told her, smiling slightly as he mused, "The lady of the lake."

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen whispered sadly, bringing her arms around him for a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry you lost her," she said, "and that you couldn't tell us, your friends. I wish I could have been there for you."

The warlock hugged her back tightly, blinking back his tears but feeling oddly light despite the situation. Somehow, Gwen's soothing tone and calm reassurance always seemed to make things better.

There was still one secret he had not shared with her, as he found that a dark hallway and a clandestine meeting were not quite suitable for such a revelation. She had asked though, if he knew who Emrys was. He told her they would speak of it later.

The sky was beginning to grow brighter, betraying the dawn, and they had to part ways. Merlin promised to find her later, to set a day and time for Aithusa's arrival – provided, of course, that both Arthur and Kilgharrah didn't put up much of a fight. The dragon was Merlin's problem as Arthur was Guinevere's, and they would both need some convincing.

Arthur could not be told the truth of how Aithusa was to be called to Camelot either, so Guinevere devised a believable enough lie; she would send word to the druids, to Maerwynn, and they would know how to relay the message to the mysterious young warlock.

And, unsurprisingly, Arthur had believed the words once she had presented him with her proposition later in the day; sometimes, she wondered how he managed to believe such nonsense. How they had _all_ managed to believe such nonsense for years. _The perils of ignorance_, she thought.

But, of course, Arthur had objections to the plan itself.

"You want to summon a dragon to the citadel?" he exclaimed incredulously once she had finished speaking. Honestly, of all the mad ideas she'd had recently, this had to be the most insane one.

"No one will see him," she countered calmly, "Only Morgana, and I think it will do her good. She seemed very curious when I mentioned the dragons."

He looked positively bewildered and, as his shock waned, doubtful of Aithusa's abilities to charm Morgana into goodness. Guinevere smiled as she added, "Perhaps you would like to meet him too. He is impossibly sweet, you know."

He had a hard time believing that too, after having seen the Great Dragon set Camelot on fire.

Still, Guinevere was determined, her lip set into a pleading pout, he could not deny her anything, and so he gave his consent.

Kilgharrah, for his part, had thrown a veritable fit, according to Merlin. It was 'the witch this' and 'the witch that', the warlock related the following day. The Great Dragon also seemed to have questioned all their sanities, and especially the Queen's, once Merlin pointed out that it had been her idea. Still, with some coaxing, the dragon too had relented. _But on your heads be it_, he had said in parting.

With that promise of a future meeting in mind, Guinevere came to Morgana on the morning she was to be locked back into the dungeons.

"Before I let the guards escort you back to your cell," she said kindly, "I would like a word."

Morgana seemed wary, distrusting of Guinevere's motives and intentions. It had been so for the last two days, whenever the Queen would step inside the chambers. "What game are you playing?" the witch queried suspiciously, "Why are you acting as though you still care for me?"

Guinevere sighed, approaching the bedside slowly. "I've told you already, Morgana. I gave my word to Gorlois."

The mention of her father's name made Morgana avert her gaze and her shoulders tensed; whatever he had told her in the spirit world clearly still rattled her.

Guinevere went on, "And, even after everything I've learned, I still can't forget that, over a year ago, you had a chance to kill me but you didn't."

Morgana's lip twitched at that, either in bitterness or regret, Guinevere couldn't quite tell. She swallowed tightly before adding, "I've tried, believe me, and I kept telling myself it was a moment's weakness on your part…that the throne of Camelot is the only thing that will ever matter to you."

She took a deep breath. "But I _can't_ forget," she spoke again, noticing that Morgana hadn't made to comment in any way, "There are…so _many_ things I can't forget, Morgana. You don't seem to remember any of them, but I do."

Her heart grew heavier with each step she took, as memories of happier times filled her mind. The tears came unbidden but she carried on, "I remember your first day in the palace, when you asked me if I would be your friend. I remember saying yes. And I remember, months later, when you were reading that big, heavy book, filled with all these long words I couldn't understand.

"And you sat me down, and you taught me each and every one of those words. You helped me read them, and understand them. Then you gave me a quill, and you held my hand as I learned to write them.

"And I remember when you showed me how ladies were taught posture and grace. You put a pile of books on my head and made me walk around your chambers, and you laughed when they all kept falling down. And I would keep practising at home too, because I wanted to make you proud. My father thought me so silly."

She paused there, her smile fading. "I remember when he died, too," she spoke quietly, "I remember when you offered me comfort, and when Uther threw you in the dungeons because you had thought him a murderer for what he did."

Morgana's jaw clenched at the reminders, but Guinevere had more to say. She fought her tears and held her chin higher. "But _you_ forgot," she said, "You put that crown on your head, and you forgot everything. 'I forgot you too had suffered', that's what you said to me. How could you forget, Morgana?"

There was silence between the two for a long time, but tears threatened to spill down Morgana's cheeks. Guinevere stifled her own; the time for these simple questions had long passed. Besides, Guinevere believed she already knew part of the answer.

She wasn't sure if the trait came with sorcery or blood, or both. After all, she had seen it on both sides; she had seen it in Uther as she had in Arthur, and in some of those who had magic. The _arrogance_.

An arrogance so blinding it made them believe their ideas were the only true ones, or made them think no other could be their equal, much less their superior. Guinevere had no taste for arrogance. "You seem to forget much, Morgana, but I do hope you will remember this, "she cautioned, calmly but firmly, "You have been shown many a kindness, and I have yet another to give you, but do remember that, right now, I _am_ the only thing that stands between you…and a noose."

Morgana offered no reply.

Guinevere eventually took her leave, but not before telling the witch she would be taken to the top of the South Tower in two weeks' time.

Two weeks came and went, and the Queen stood before the witch's cell, waiting for the bars to be pulled open.

Morgana's eyes, always seemingly dead, lit up with curiosity once more, and Guinevere took it as a good sign. Everyone called her mad for as much as speaking to Morgana, but she had to know. Once, before they had met in those godforsaken woods and a dagger had been held to her throat, she had thought Morgana a cruel witch, consumed and corrupted by the evil of sorcery. Now, she thought differently.

And she needed to know if she had been wrong then, or if she was wrong now.

She denied the guards' offer of assistance, knowing they would be more of an encumbrance than anything else, and led Morgana up to the South Tower alone. The ascent was long and tiring, and done in silence.

As they reached the top, they were met by bright sunlight, and Morgana squinted against it.

When it was no longer blinding, her eyes widened.

Aithusa stood farther down, his head tilted to the side as he observed the two women.

"Hello, Aithusa," Guinevere greeted with a warm smile, and the young dragon chirped his own greeting in return, a little sound which sounded similar to the humans' tongue he had been so keen to learn when she had last seen him.

He seemed to have grown a bit too, taller with sharper features, but still resembled a child more than anything else.

Beside her, Morgana gasped quietly. Guinevere let go of her arm, studying her expression carefully as she stepped back. There was awe in her eyes and she slowly raised her hand, approaching Aithusa.

The dragon observed her with his big, blue eyes, seeming to be appraising her, and then chirped again before meeting her halfway.

A small chuckle of wonder came forth as her fingers touched his white scales, and her lips soon drew a wide, genuine smile.

Guinevere watched the interaction from a distance, a small smile of her own appearing while a stray tear or two clouded her vision; she nodded.

The witch had a heart.

* * *

For the next month or so, everything seemed to settle into a routine.

Morgana was returned to the dungeons, but she no longer spent every single day alone. Guinevere would come to her once a week, and most of the time, Morgana said nothing. When she did speak, it wasn't about anything of particular consequences, but she did seem to cheer up, even a little, when words were traded between the two women. Then, after a few weeks, she began _asking_ for Gwen. And sometimes, the Queen would come. She would tell her of Aithusa, as it appeared to be the one topic which held true significance to Morgana.

Further efforts were made where sorcery was concerned too, as the King and Queen worked to change the council's, as well as the people's, minds on the subject; rumours and talk of magic circulated more freely than ever, and it was definitely a step in the right direction. Guinevere was immensely pleased, and so was Arthur, though he had yet to let go of all his misgivings. Not that he still wished to keep magic outlawed, but he would wake in cold sweats at night, as fears plagued his dreams, and his palms would sweat beneath the table when he addressed the subject in meetings. The day when he would need to _truly_ alter the law grew nearer every day, and with that duty approaching, his restlessness grew. Guinevere would catch him sometimes with a rather green look about him, and he would seem positively nauseated from stress. She would kindly soothe him, but she knew his confidence was still not as strong as it once was.

Nevertheless, he pursued their cause. And he was not alone in it, either. Mithian and Bren had come for their promised visit, gossiping with Camelot's monarchs on all sorts of subjects, including politics.

Of course, before such serious matters were given attention, Mithian had thought it important – and immensely hilarious – to inform the King and Queen that the Lady Vivian was getting married. To a one-legged farmer, no less. The fortunate – or cruelly _mis_fortunate, the points of view varied – groom had stolen a kiss from the lady at a feast, breaking the enchantment she had been under. It was still a surprise that Olaf had allowed for the marriage to happen, but most supposed he had been too relieved his daughter no longer pined after Arthur to care. Besides, Mithian had pointed out, marriages between nobles and commoners were no longer unheard of, to which the King of Camelot had grinned, quite obviously very pleased with himself.

Political matters were reached last. After having told them her parents preached for a more lenient attitude towards magic, standing by Camelot's own words, Mithian broached the subject of their common, yet still somewhat elusive dream; Albion. The five kingdoms were closer to unification than ever, with only a little hitch or two to do with Lot. Once warlord, now King, Lot had taken hold of Cenred's kingdom after long months of trouble and bloodshed, and he had only acquired the throne because he was the most ruthless of all the contenders. That, naturally, made some reluctant to strike an alliance with him. Olaf and Annis had still not caved, but Mithian assured her father had written to Olaf, as his old friend, to show him the benefits of an alliance that would encompass all the kingdoms. Annis, however, was a warier ruler than most, but all agreed that, if anyone could persuade her, it was Arthur. So, he set to accomplish that too.

As peace between the kingdoms was soon to be achieved, Guinevere proposed they should officially make peace with those of magic too. She had a plan to join forces with the druids, and set up a meeting with a rather notorious renegade sorcerer they all knew well; Alvarr. He had eluded them after having escaped Camelot but, as magic began being discussed more freely, rumours reached them that he was gathering people for his cause once more. And, if they could strike peace with him, then the change would happen all the more smoothly.

The Queen had written to Maerwynn, and the druids had agreed to receive her into their camp, along with her escort, and assured they would do their best to arrange a meeting.

The only problem was, she wanted to go alone as representative of Camelot, without her King. That, naturally, did not sit well with him.

He went on and on about danger at every turn, called her mad, called her reckless, then pointed out the danger some more. She, calmly, made him see that she was the best for the job; her temper was more moderated than his, and it would certainly put everyone more at ease if someone with a peaceful manner did the talking.

When he had to concede to that, he insisted she bring half of Camelot's Knights with her. She objected to that too and, after some very lengthy debate, made him agree to her request to only bring her brother and Percival with her.

He called her mad again.

A date for her arrival at the druids' camp had been set, in the early spring, and she went to Morgana on the day before her departure.

"I will meet with the druids," she told her, "and, hopefully, Alvarr – I believe you remember him well. We are hoping to make peace."

When Morgana raised an eyebrow, Guinevere added with a rather smug smile, "I told you things would change, Morgana."

Still, the other woman's expression grew bitter. "So, I am just to forget all the slaughter?"

"That is the price of peace," Guinevere said simply. "You should be glad of this, Morgana. You always say you fought for the freedom of your people, and now they will have it; so, if that was really what you desired all along, you should be glad. But if it is only revenge you ever sought, then there is really nothing more we can say to each other."

Morgana exhaled sharply, growing agitated. Guinevere carried on, "Your quarrel was with Uther more than any of us, and he has his punishment. I know you've seen him, Morgana, damned for all eternity; he paid the price for his sins."

The witch was silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to her hands as she spoke quietly, "That's what my father said too."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to proceed; she hadn't really mentioned anything about Gorlois before, not in any substantial detail.

"He said I would share Uther's fate, if I kept seeking revenge."

"You don't want that," Guinevere encouraged softly, "and he was right, too. If you still wish to spill the blood of those who have not wronged you, the spirits will not forgive you."

Morgana drew a shaky breath at that, before her expression tightened into a grimace. Finally, she spoke, her voice flat and hollow, "I killed him."

Guinevere tensed. "Killed who?" she asked warily, dreading the answer she knew was about to be given to her.

"Uther," Morgana said. "It was my magic which killed him. Agravaine told me Arthur meant to use sorcery to save our dear father, so I made a charm, to be put around Uther's neck; any healing magic would be reversed and magnified tenfold. _My_ magic killed him."

The confession was made almost numbly, and that was certainly how Guinevere felt, too. She barely found the strength to speak, "You killed your own father?"

That seemed to raise Morgana's ire. "He was never my father," she hissed, "He didn't deserve to live, he deserved to writhe in agony for what he did! He deserved to suffer!"

Guinevere kept silent, unable to make any sound leave her throat. Morgana's flaring anger burned in her eyes but they soon began filling with tears too, and she seemed grieved again. "But I still felt him leave," she admitted, her steady tone wavering, "I felt his pain…even in death, he caused me pain!"

No words Guinevere could think of would hold any meaning in the face of this revelation, and she simply stood there, with trembling hands and a hollow heart. There were quite a few secretes she kept now, but this one, she could not keep. Not from Uther's son. Yet, she could not keep that same son from seeking retribution either, not for _this_.

"I…I must go," she said hastily, unable to bring herself to look at Morgana as she left. The guards stood further down the row of cells, as she always required privacy during her meetings with Morgana, and they frowned at her troubled expression. She traded no words with them, even when they inquired over her wellbeing, and then she felt even worse for being rude.

Still, she brushed past them and nearly ran up to the royal chambers. She hid there for the remainder of the day, telling Leon she was busy with preparations when Arthur sent for her, and pretended to already be asleep when he came to the chambers himself in the late evening, lying on her side and facing away from him.

She could practically _hear_ him frowning, but kept as still as possible, and maintained her breathing deep and steady. He settled beside her slowly, bringing his arm around her middle with careful movements. She felt a soft kiss against her hair and then her shoulder, before he lay down against her snuggly, his chest to her back.

She kept quiet.

* * *

In the morning, Guinevere and Arthur shared a breakfast before her departure. It was, however, a rather tense meal.

Guinevere stared at her plate, picked at her food and every word she spoke seemed to be hollow and trite.

Finally, Arthur threw down his cutlery. "Will you tell me what's troubling you?" he prompted, a bit more harshly than he had meant to, "The guards said speaking to Morgana upset you yesterday and since, I feel as though you would rather be anywhere but around me."

She inhaled sharply at the words, tensing for a moment before she too lowered her knife and fork. When her eyes met his, they were sad. "There is something I must tell you," she said, "something Morgana told me. I wish I could keep it to myself, but I can't. It's about your father."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded for her to proceed.

She took a deep breath before doing so. "When you decided to use magic to heal him, Agravaine told Morgana. She made a charm, one which reverses healing magic and magnifies that destructive force tenfold. Your uncle put it around Uther's neck. When Emrys tried to heal him, it sealed your father's fate. Morgana's magic killed him."

Arthur's expression was blank for a moment, his shoulders tense. Then the fury sparked in his eyes.

"She killed him?" he hissed, and Guinevere could only nod as she said quietly, "With Agravaine's help, yes."

His clenched fist came upon the table, rattling the plates, and then he was on his feet, running his hands through his hair. After some moments, he turned back to his wife, face contorted in anger. "She killed my father – _our_ father!" he shouted, "Don't you ask me to spare her again, Guinevere, because I will not!"

She bit her tongue against saying he too had once almost killed Uther for his crimes. It would do her no good. Everyone had the right to seek retribution for the death of their blood kin; Guinevere had waived that right once, and she believed she would again. Arthur would not.

He was the only who had ever loved Uther unconditionally, through all his sins and cruelty. She could not stop him from seeking retaliation, not in the name of peace like she had with Odin; not this time. She wished it wouldn't make her feel guilty to sign Morgana's death sentence, but it did.

"I won't ask it of you," she spoke lowly, "He was your father and you are the King. Proceed however you see fit."

She rose to her feet wearily, looking at him with steady eyes. "I will only ask, if you do decide to execute her, that you do not make me attend," she made her request, "I do not wish to watch as she hangs, and I do not want to see the crowd cheer as her neck snaps."

Somehow, her lack of resistance made him feel worse than if she had pleaded for Morgana's life. She wasn't angry or disapproving, only resigned; somehow, that made it worse.

Her request only served to fuel that feeling; the kind-hearted Queen, who disliked seeing others derive joy from death.

His tongue was tied and, after long moments of silence, she was the one to speak, "I should go now. Elyan and Percival are already waiting for me. I hope I will bring you good news upon my return."

She approached and pressed a small kiss to his cheek, giving him a wan smile.

After the doors closed behind her, Arthur settled into his chair again, running a hand over his face.

* * *

"You're unusually quiet," Elyan observed as they rode through the woods, towards the border with Lot's kingdom. The druids' camp lay within the other King's lands, and they would need roughly half a day to reach the border, and an entire one to make it to the camp itself.

It had been some five hours into their journey, and Guinevere spoke very little. She also seemed to be in a rather sombre mood, something that was rather odd given the purpose of their travels; she had been quite excited about the meeting in the previous weeks.

She gave her brother a small smile. "You mistake me for the King, Elyan," she said, "He's the one who won't stop talking."

Percival chuckled lightly at that, nodding his approval. "Once, he spent two hours talking about a deer he slew or something such."

"There are few things he enjoys more than his hunt," Guinevere agreed.

"Indeed," Elyan voiced his own agreement, "The only thing he speaks about _more_ is his Queen."

"Especially after a cup or two of ale," Percival pitched in, "Then he becomes particularly…uh…romantic, I think."

"Arthur's idea of romantic, anyway," Elyan supplied, "A great King he may be, but a poet he is not."

Guinevere could not help but smile again. "Dare I ask what travesties leave his mouth?"

The Knights exchanged a look. "Well," Elyan began, "I do remember him comparing you to a herb-incrusted capon once; he said not even _that_ wonder could be your equal."

_Oh dear_, Guinevere thought in amusement. "That _is_ a compliment," she said aloud, "He could eat himself to death with that capon and die the happiest of men."

"I did like another thing he said," Percival added, remembering, "It was actually almost truly poetic."

"What did he say?"

"He said the world had never seen beauty such as yours, milady."

Guinevere blinked before her smile grew wider and her heart warmer. Arthur was _still_ a difficult man, but he would _still_ say these little things and they would _still_ mean the world, just as they always had.

"He spent hours telling us we would lose our heads if there is as much as a scratch on you upon our return, you know," her brother's voice cut through her thoughts, "He really wished you would have allowed him to come as well."

She sighed. "I think it for the best if I do this alone."

The Knights nodded. After a moment, Percival spoke up, "Milady, can I ask you something?"

His hesitant tone made her curious. "Of course."

"Please, don't take offense but, uh…why did you ask _me_ to accompany you?" he queried, rushing to add when her eyebrows rose, "I only mean that, well, I understand why you would ask for your brother but I had thought – we all did, really – that, if you only wanted two men to accompany you, you would have chosen Leon or perhaps Gwaine as the other."

She surprised him by smiling. "I take no offense, Percival," she assured, "and I do have a reason for requesting your company. I will ask you not to take offense either now. I know your views on magic, and I know how you hate Morgana."

The Knight tensed at the words, but kept silent as the Queen went on, "I also know, though you have not said, that you dislike the kindness she has been shown. I know you are warier of magic than most because of what happened to your family. Please, don't think I have forgotten your suffering; I have not forgotten _anyone's_ suffering. But I wish to see peace and it is my hope that, if you witness this meeting, you will find that not all are like Morgana. There is always a price to peace, but I do believe it is worthwhile to pay it this time."

At length, Percival nodded. "I understand, Your Highness," he said respectfully, "and I hope I do not disappoint you. But I cannot pretend to ever forget what Morgana has done. Cenred and his men have paid with their lives, but she has not."

"You wish to see her dead."

"I do, milady."

Guinevere sighed, her eyes growing sad as she said, "You may yet get your wish, Percival."

* * *

The dungeon's grates rattled again as Morgana demanded of the guards for what was probably the hundredth time, "Call for Gwen."

She had been repeating the same for most of the morning, growing angrier each time she was ignored.

The older of the two guards snapped, "Be silent, witch!"

Her resulting glare was murderous. "_You_ shall be silent when I rip your throat out!"

He merely scoffed, but the younger guard beside him was less indifferent. "Perhaps we should send for the King," he suggested in a whisper, "She's never been this insistent."

The other man rolled his eyes. "You want to bother the King with this? Fine. But I won't be sharing the stocks with you."

Summoning courage he wasn't sure he possessed, the young guard went to the royal chambers, asking the King, who appeared to already be in a rather sour mood, to come down to the dungeons. The King's glare grew tenfold when the guard mentioned Morgana, but still made the journey to the witch's cell.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur queried tersely as he came to a stand before Morgana. She was grasping at the bars, her eyes flittering in the direction he'd come from. He wanted nothing more than to tighten that damned noose around her neck himself.

"Has she gone already?" Morgana said, apparently disregarding his question, "You must go after her."

"What?"

"Go after Gwen," she repeated, making it sound like a command. "Tell her to return, or take a different route. I've seen her in my dreams, lying dead in the middle of the road. The vision wasn't powerful, it can be stopped, but you must go after her."

Her words were spoken flatly, though their nature should have warranted a much different tone. Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What trickery is this, Morgana?"

"This is no time for tricks, dear brother. Be of some use for once in your life, and _go after her_."

He shook his head. "You're lying. It's all you've ever done. I will not heed your lies again, Morgana."

Her glare was poisonous, as were her words as she hissed like the snake that she was, "You fool."

He paid her no attention, turning to the guards. "If she speaks again, gag her."

Her growl of anger followed him up to the royal chambers, where he slammed the doors shut.

Settling back at his desk, he meant to focus on the new letter he'd received from Annis. Morgana's words would not let him be.

It had to be some trick of hers, most likely to lure him to his death while using his love for Guinevere as the ruse's driving force. She was a liar. She always lied.

But then, maybe just this once, she was not.

No, her intentions had to be malicious. She didn't care for any of them, certainly not for Guinevere. If anything, she would _want_ to see her dead. That had to prove she lied; if she had truly seen what she claimed to have seen, she would have never told him of it.

Unless she had had a change of heart.

No, impossible.

Yet, Guinevere had said she loved the young dragon.

Guinevere was too kind.

Guinevere could be in danger.

Morgana always lied.

Guinevere could die.

He kicked at his desk in frustration.

How the hell was he supposed to discern the truth from the lie? His sense of judgement was probably one of the poorest in the five kingdoms, if experience was anything to go by.

Guinevere would tell him to listen to his heart and instincts.

His instincts told him there was truth in Morgana's warning, but God knew they had never been reliable when it came to his sister. How long had she fooled him for before? Months upon months. And he'd had no clue.

Still, his instinct to protect Guinevere from harm made him want to saddle up immediately. Even if it meant his death. But if he did lose his head on a fool's errand, Guinevere herself would probably raise him from the dead just to kill him again for his stupidity.

He rubbed his forehead.

Guinevere would have been able to tell the lie from the truth.

"Fancy some lunch, sire?"

He nearly jumped at the sound of Merlin's voice. His manservant stood a few feet away from him, but Arthur hadn't even heard him enter.

The warlock frowned at the King's obvious distress, querying, "What's the matter?"

Arthur sighed deeply. "Morgana, Merlin, what else?"

"Did something happen?"

"She spent the morning calling for Guinevere," Arthur said, making Merlin shrug as he observed, "She calls for Gwen almost every day. Then asks her about the dragon when she does come."

"This time's different," the King informed wearily, "She said she'd had one of her dreams, and seen Guinevere….lying dead on the road. She said I must go after her."

Merlin's eyes widened for a long moment, before they narrowed a fraction. "But you don't believe her warning?" he guessed.

Arthur threw his hands in the air. "How _could_ I believe it?" he retorted. "This is _Morgana_ we're talking about, it's likely a trick to lure _me_ to _my_ death. It was probably _me_ she saw lying dead somewhere and wants to ensure it happens. I mean, how can I believe she wants to _save_ Guinevere?"

Merlin was silent for a long time, deliberating. Finally, he spoke, "Perhaps because she knows Gwen is the only thing keeping her alive."

Arthur's expression immediately darkened. "Not anymore," he stated icily, to the warlock's surprise.

His eyes turned cold with anger as he proceeded, "She killed Father, Merlin. Her magic killed him, with the help of my uncle, her faithful pawn. She confessed it to Guinevere. Some charm or something reversed the healing magic that old sorcerer used."

For once, Merlin didn't have to feign his shock. As it subsided, he felt his own anger rise, too. He had spent nearly two years now, carrying the guilt around, thinking he had failed; thinking his magic hadn't been strong enough. He should have known it had all been Morgana's doing, just as he should have known it about Lancelot and Guinevere's betrayal.

At length, he said, "I'm sorry. I know how guilty you felt."

Arthur's expression was a tight grimace of bitterness. "All these things she has done…she executed a courtyard full of innocent people, she put Guinevere through hell time and time again, she killed my father…I won't show her mercy again."

Merlin pursed his lips. He thought it unwise to ask about Gwen's thoughts on the matter, though it was obvious she had either protested against it or simply told Arthur to do what he believed was best; he would wager it was the latter.

Still, it was best to keep focused on immediate problems. "But Morgana doesn't know that," he pointed out, "If she believes Gwen is the only thing keeping the noose away from her neck, then it's in her best interest to keep her alive, too."

Arthur's shoulders visibly slumped. "So, you think I should believe her words?"

Merlin hesitated. Morgana was devious and rarely ever transparent, much less honest; odds were she had a scheme planed. Still, there was doubt. "I think maybe you should heed her warning."

He pretended not to notice the uncertainty in Arthur's expression. Months ago, Arthur would have thought Merlin's advice as sound and as worthy as Guinevere's. But the trust had been broken and, though they had mended their fences and were still friends, both warlock and King knew the mistrust lingered.

Arthur bit his lip. "She knows how I care about Guinevere, Merlin," he spoke, "I would have given her the kingdom to save my wife; she knows she can use her to make me do her bidding. Guinevere herself said I should be more careful, that I should think of the kingdom and the people first."

"You don't have to go yourself," Merlin suggested, "You could send a few Knights."

"And risk the fate Morgana could have in store for me befall my men? No."

Merlin sighed. "Well, Gwen would also say you should listen to your instincts. So, what do those tell you?"

Arthur leaned his elbows on the table, letting his head rest against his hands wearily. "I've no idea," he admitted in defeat.

The warlock couldn't think of anything else to say. Arthur trusted his judgement only a fraction more than his own now; the only person he did entirely trust to make the right call was Guinevere, and she was miles away already.

The silence grew long.

"So…no lunch, then?"

"Go away, Merlin!"

* * *

**A/N: Before you ask, no, Aithusa will _not_ go dark-side. When I planned this puppy out, I actually thought that dragons owed some sort of, minimal as it may be, allegiance to their Dragonlords, and I also thought said Dragonlords had somewhat of a duty to _really_ look after the baby dragons they had hatched. Apparently, I was wrong. **

**And besides, it's not like Aithusa would have time to go dark-side by the end of this mess. Which brings me to say that there should be a total of two chapters left before the end. The next one's already written - so you know, no ten-day-long gaps between updates - and, unless I get weird ideas, the last one should be up before the week's end. God help me, I'm almost there. **

**Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed the chapter :)**


	34. The Path of Peace

Guinevere and the two Knights had crossed the border about an hour ago, now treading a scarcely travelled road, lined with some dense forest on both sides. It was nearing dusk and they would need to set camp soon.

They had settled into a relaxed pace but when their horses began to grow somewhat restless, all three travellers tensed.

"Be quiet," Elyan instructed lowly, straining to hear any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Leaves rustled in the slight breeze, crunched upon the ground under animals' paws, but the birds had stopped chirping.

Soon, the crunching grew louder from both sides and they recognised the sounds of footsteps. Lots and lots of them.

The Knights drew their swords. "Turn back," Percival ordered, but even as they pulled on the horses' reins and made to gallop down in the direction they'd come from, bandits came rushing from the thick woods. Most were on foot, a few on horses of their own.

Elyan cursed loudly, drawing his horse near Guinevere's. Percival flanked her other side.

She fought to steady her breathing.

"We'll keep them away, you run," her brother told her, but it was easier said than done.

They slashed down at the bandits, but there were a cluster of bloodthirsty, axe-wielding outlaws, and the Knights' efforts to keep the Queen away from their blades hindered their movements.

Guinevere grabbed for Elyan's spare sword, which rested at his saddle, and pulled sharply at her horse's reins. The animal stood on its back legs, jamming its hoof into a bandit's face.

Percival looked somewhat impressed. "I'm not entirely useless," she commented flatly, spurring her horse forward. She had no experience fighting whilst riding, but she did her best to cut down at the bandits who were on foot. There was only one problem; too many bandits.

Lot's lands were notorious for being most bandit-infested, but they had chosen a route which was usually safe. Bandits roamed the more undertaken routes, busy with merchants and travelling parties. It was just their luck, Guinevere supposed, to have taken the 'safe' route on the one occasion bandits decided to give it a try.

She heard her brother shout as he was thrown of his horse, and she immediately whirled back, swinging her blade at the man who held his own at Elyan's throat. The bandit went down in a cry of pain, but another sent his axe flying into her horse's belly. The animal neighed and toppled, and Guinevere found herself on the ground as well, getting a mouthful of gravel.

Her skirts tangled around her legs, and her sword was yanked from her grasp. It served her right, she surmised, for wanting to make an impression and wearing blasted skirts.

She lost sight of her brother and Percival, struggling to rise, but one of the bandits backhanded her across the cheek and she fell back down, her vision crossing.

He seemed to understand she was the Queen of Camelot when he noticed her ring, shouting it to his fellow good-for-nothings. Her head rang from the blow.

She was going to either die or be taken for ransom, she realised.

Arthur was going to be absolutely furious.

A loud howl drowned the sounds of the fight, even the bandits' panicked shouts of surprise. Fire lit up the darkening sky and the trees were set aflame. The bandits scattered, some with more success than others, as giant claws threw many into the air, or simply ripped them apart.

Guinevere had a hand to her pounding head, but she still nearly laughed in relief. Bless the young warlock and his dragon.

The sounds of the fleeing bandits grew quieter, and the ground shook as the dragon touched it. Guinevere raised her eyes to his, still seated upon the ground. "I owe you my life again, Kilgharrah."

"Your gratitude is meant for the young warlock," the dragon said simply, "It is his request I carry out now, as I did before."

She nodded meekly, shifting to her knees before finally, and slowly, rising to her feet. She wobbled.

Casting a look over her shoulder, she noticed Elyan and Percival sprawled upon the dirt, a bit bloodied and propped on their elbows, staring at the dragon with eyes as wide as coins and jaws dropping so wide, they were practically hitting the ground itself.

She had to smile at their dumbstruck expressions.

"Sirs Elyan and Percival would thank you as well, if they could find their voices," she told Kilgharrah as she turned back to him, "You saved all our lives."

Kilgharrah seemed to care little for gratitude, as he said, "You should not be travelling these roads with such a small guard."

She would roll her eyes if she didn't think it would make her faint; something told her the dragon and her husband would get along really well, if they ever actually spoke. They would certainly bond over discussions on how careless she was.

"I was headed for a druids' camp," she said, "It would be in poor manners to show there with a hundred armed Knights, when we are meant to talk of peace."

"Good manners won't keep you alive."

Oh, such a source of wisdom he was.

Some rustling was heard from behind, as the Knights finally scrambled to their feet. And found their voices, apparently. "It's a dragon," Percival stated rather dumbly, and Elyan echoed the sentiment by nodding slowly.

Guinevere bit her lip; at least they were handy with the sword.

She took a look at their surroundings, assessing the situation. All three of their horses lay dead along with a good portion of the bandits, and it was getting dark. Returning to Camelot seemed unnecessary, as she was certain the druids would offer them care. Kilgharrah could inform Merlin of their safety, and she would send word to Arthur herself from the camp. They only needed means of transportation.

She smiled at Kilgharrah.

He grumbled. "I am still not a horse," he complained, even as he laid his neck flat against the ground.

* * *

Arthur didn't sleep for the next two nights. He hadn't gone after Guinevere, hadn't sent any men either, but the question still roamed his mind incessantly.

To go or not to go?

Both felt wrong. It felt wrong to believe Morgana and it felt wrong to ignore her. It was driving him mad. Positively mad.

He felt uneasy at the few looks he'd caught Merlin give him after their discussion; the looks were both knowing and pitying, and Arthur did not like them one bit.

He could not trust Morgana. Yet, he could not sleep either.

On the third morning after Guinevere's departure, a rider arrived to the citadel, carrying a message from the druids' camp. Himself a druid, the messenger related that the Queen was safely in the camp, but that she had instructed a message be delivered to the King in all haste.

Arthur thanked the man, offered him food and rest, went back to his chambers, then promptly tore at the letter to open it.

His fingers were numb by the time he'd finished it, and the note slipped from his grasp and onto the desk.

Well, it seemed Morgana was right about one thing, if nothing else. He was a fool. The worst possible kind.

* * *

When they arrived to the camp, Guinevere and the Knights were immediately tended to.

They were given fresh water to wash away the dirt and blood and a change of clothes. They were all seated around a fire afterward, in the night, as the druids prepared them a light supper.

Maerwynn was seated at Guinevere's side, observing the blossoming bruise beneath her eye with a deep frown. Elyan and Percival were much worse for wear, covered in scrapes and bruises, but Maerwynn paid their injuries little attention. Possibly because they sat silently by the fire, quite obviously uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Will you let me heal you?" the girl asked, "My powers have grown, I can do it now."

Guinevere smiled, ruffling the child's hair. "It's just a bruise, Maerwynn."

Still, she frowned deeper. "I don't like it."

Percival raised an eyebrow, breaking his silence. "No one likes it."

The druid girl responded in kind, raising her own eyebrow and, somehow, it looked more impressive on her. "It would be terrible if anyone _did_."

Percival frowned now, trying to decide whether the girl was mocking him or not. Guinevere had to smile wider. Oh, she'd missed Maerwynn.

She bit her lip in thought then, as she observed Percival. Out of all the Knights she knew best, he remained the most suspicious where sorcery was concerned. Her brother followed hers and Arthur's views, as did Leon and Gwaine, but Percival remained carefully guarded. This journey was her attempt to get him to see things differently too, and she supposed there could be no harm in starting early.

She turned to Maerwynn. "If you really wish to do it, Maerwynn, and only if you are certain it won't exhaust you, then go ahead."

The girl positively beamed while the Knights blanched. The druids walking about did their best not to smile too widely.

Elyan and Percival exchanged looks, obviously uneasy at the prospect of letting magic being used on their Queen, and the taller Knight seemed like he was about to object too, but Guinevere shook her head slightly to silence any possible remarks. She had no idea what to expect, as she had never willingly let magic be used on her, but she trusted Maerwynn. As long as she wasn't turned into a toad, it would all be good.

Maerwynn rose to her knees next to Guinevere, gently laying her hand against the large bruise. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath_._ "_Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ,_" she spoke, and Percival's hand immediately went for the sword he had rested upon the ground, though he made no move to wield it,"_ Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie."_

The girl's eyes opened, flashing in gold. She lowered her hand, and the Knights quietly gasped. Guinevere raised her own hand to her cheek, touching the previously tender skin; she found it to be as good as new.

She laughed lightly, making Maerwynn grin proudly, and Elyan soon joined in with a smile of his own. Guinevere's eyes went to Percival.

His expression was impassive for a moment, but his mouth pulled at the corners eventually, as he admitted, "Not everyone is like Morgana."

* * *

Alvarr arrived to the camp, with a dozen companions, during midday. Guinevere stood amidst the druids as they came to greet the sorcerer, with Elyan and Percival watching alertly from the rear.

The camp's elder, Iseldir, spoke first. "It has been a long time, Alvarr," he said, "But we welcome you nevertheless."

The sorcerer nodded in a friendly manner to the druid, but his eyes were cold and suspicious as they went to Guinevere and her Knights. She noticed he and his companions were armed, with daggers and swords resting at their sides. Her Knights had discarded their own before coming to meet the sorcerer, per her request.

She stepped forward. "I am Queen Guinevere of Camelot," she introduced herself, polite but guarded, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Alvarr – or at least I hope it will be."

He remained cold, only acknowledging her words with a purse of his lips. Iseldir spoke again. "I will ask you all to relinquish your weapons."

Now, Alvarr scoffed. "No chance," he responded gruffly.

"My men have relinquished their own," Guinevere said, gesturing toward the unarmed Knights, "We hope to achieve peace today. I hardly think this is the way to start."

A woman from Alvarr's party interjected, "For all we know, you have more men waiting in the woods, ready to attack as soon as we are unarmed. We are not taking chances."

"You are wary, I understand," Guinevere retorted calmly, "And my word is probably worth very little to you, but I assure you, I only came with two men."

"She speaks the truth," Iseldir spoke again, his voice serene but brooking no room for argument, "Lower your weapons, all of you, and let us talk as friends rather than foes. This is a day for peace."

The druid was obviously owed respect for Alvarr and his party obeyed – though reluctantly – and set all their blades into a pile to the side. Once that was accomplished, everyone was led to a large tent, where they sat on opposite sides. Guinevere and her men on one, Alvarr and all his companions on the other, while Iseldir and Maerwynn, who had insisted on being present, stood to the side, halfway between each party.

"Well, then," Alvarr began, "why did you really summon me here for, _Queen_ Guinevere?"

His tone was simply dripping with scorn, and both Elyan and Percival tensed.

"My reasons are simple, and you have been told of them already. We are here to speak of peace," Guinevere said calmly, unbothered by the animosity, "between Camelot and those with magic."

A few sorcerers laughed in derision. "Peace with Camelot?" Alvarr echoed, almost in amusement, "I must say, your tricks grow more cunning. What is your plan here, _milady_? Do you wish us all to parade through your square, just before you bury arrows into our backs?"

"Mind your tongue, Alvarr," Iseldir cautioned, as calm as always, "The Once and Future Queen means what she says. She comes to us in peace, in the name of the Once and Future King, and you will do well to show her kindness."

Alvarr obviously did not wish to offend the druid, so he moderated his tone as he voiced his thoughts further, though it was still far from amiable. "The Once and Future King, is it? I remember when his father slaughtered every last person of magic – men and women and even children – he could find. I remember when he meant to do the same to me. And I remember when the _great_ Once and Future King himself cut down my friends like they were weeds that displeased his eye."

"Uther has long been dead," Guinevere observed, "and King Arthur is not like his father."

"I'll say," Alvarr supplied sarcastically, "At least Uther did not hide behind a woman's skirts."

"Uther hid behind many things," Guinevere countered, "His hatred being one of them. But I am not here on his behalf; my King wished to come, believe me, so he does not hide behind any pretences, least of all my skirts. Still, I had thought it best to come alone. You see, you and Arthur have seen each other at your worst; you and I, on the other hand, have never spoken. So I find it most unpleasant that you would judge me by the actions of others."

Alvarr had an unreadable look about him, his voice flat as he spoke, "Camelot is not our friend."

"Perhaps not yet," she conceded, "but you must have noticed change where magic is concerned. People no longer discuss it in whispers, sovereigns preach for more lenient views on sorcery…and tell me, have you heard of anyone being executed for their magic alone since Arthur rose to the throne? Who do you think championed these changes, if not him?"

The sorcerer seemed uncertain as she presented her challenge, keeping silent for a long time. Finally, he voiced a question, "And what of the Lady Morgana?"

Guinevere bit her lip. "Morgana is our prisoner," she said bluntly, "Has been for a long time. She has been shown kindness and mercy, but her fate rests in the King's hands, and I cannot say what punishment he will voice for her crimes.

"But I will tell you the same thing I have told her. You desire revenge for what was done to those with magic, revenge against Uther. Uther's time has passed, and he has his penance, I can assure you. You know more of the spirits than I do, Alvarr; you must know they are not forgiving. They will not forgive Uther's sins.

"The old King is dead. It is time we stop causing bloodshed in his name. The new King preaches peace and unity, and I stand by his words. If it is freedom and peace you desire, you shall have it. But the price of peace is to bury the past. So, if you cannot do that, then there is not much we can say to each other."

Alvarr regarded her for a long time, measuring her words and their worth, before turning to Iseldir. The druid smiled.

"If you do not believe in the Once and Future Queen's words, believe in mine," he said, "A new time has come, Alvarr, and we must not spoil it with vengeance. You were a boy when we were last free; do you remember what they called us? The druids?"

"The wisdom of the Old Ways," the sorcerer replied instinctively, and Iseldir gave a pleased nod before gesturing toward Guinevere. "As we are the wisdom of the Old Ways, Queen Guinevere is the wisdom of the New. Her heart is of a kind to ours, Alvarr. She does not lie, and she does not deceive."

The sorcerer frowned. "I've heard the prophecies," he spoke quietly, "when I was a boy. The druids always spoke of them."

"Indeed," Iseldir confirmed, "She is known amongst my kind for she is, in a way, one of us. The Once and Future King will unite the lands of Albion and bring peace to us all; the Once and Future Queen will help keep it."

Elyan and Percival exchanged wide-eyed looks, before focusing their stunned stares at Guinevere. She, of course, had heard some of the words before, when Maerwynn and her caretaker had first come to Camelot, but she had to admit that she too was a bit stunned. She could do little else but give the Knights a helpless look.

"I have always seen her in my dreams," Maerwynn spoke for the first time, commanding the sorcerers' attention, and Guinevere understood from their expression that they knew she was a future prophet. "She has the favour of the Goddess."

Guinevere's eyes widened, and so did everyone else's. Well, that was a compliment if she had ever heard one.

Silence fell over the tent for a long while, as Alvarr exchanged looks with his companions, pondering his options. Finally, he queried, "What do you offer us?"

"It is only a matter of time now, before the ban is lifted," Guinevere said with conviction, "Magic will no longer be outlawed. You will, however, abide by the other laws of the land, like any other man or woman. You will be free to practise your arts, as long as you do so in peace."

"How do we know we will not be judged more harshly than others?"

"After everything you have heard, do you really believe that will be the case?"

"Fear and ignorance make for poor judgement, and I have never known a Pendragon to be knowledgeable."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "You obviously judge all Pendragons by Uther's standards."

"Emrys is on their side, Alvarr," Iseldir informed, "He will guide them. And so will we, if needs be."

Alvarr considered the words for a very long time, exchanging a few hushed whispers with his companions. At length, he nodded. "If you give us freedom," he said, "we will give you peace."

* * *

Guinevere and the Knights made the journey back to Camelot on borrowed horses, one week after they had gone.

Arthur waited in the courtyard, and Guinevere smiled widely as he helped her dismount. "I am happy to say I bring you good news," she informed brightly and he did smile, though it was quite obviously forced.

She frowned. "What's the matter?" she queried gently, running her thumb over his cheek, "Is it because of the letter I sent? I'm sorry if it troubled you."

His eyes went to the ground. "Yeah, that's part of it," he said, clearing his throat before adding, "We should go inside, so you can tell me everything."

"Of course," she agreed, allowing him to lead her to their chambers. He kept quiet the entire time, and she had a feeling this was about more than just her most recent brush with death.

As soon as the doors were closed, she was pulled into a tight hug. Caught off guard, she stammered incoherently as one arm tightened around her waist while the other rose, and his fingers grasped at her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm a fool, I'm sorry."

With her body pinned in his unyielding grip, she could only bend her elbows under his, and rest her hands soothingly on his shoulder blades. "What for?" she asked softly, wondering what had upset him so.

"Morgana…"

She swallowed tightly, willing her voice not to waver as she queried, "Is she dead?"

"No," he said. Then again, more steadily, "No."

He pulled away, just enough to allow his lips to reach her brow, then her cheeks and the corner of her mouth. He leaned his forehead against hers, exhaling unsteadily. She heard him sniffle quietly.

"On the morning you left," he began, keeping his eyes closed, "Morgana started asking for you, she did it for hours, and…then the guards called me. I…went there and she said she'd had one of her…magical dreams or whatever, and…she said she'd seen you lying dead in the middle of a road."

He tightened his hold around her for a moment, his jaw ticking in a rather futile attempt to maintain control. After a small kiss to the bridge of her nose, he went on, "But I didn't listen, I…she told me to go after you, but I thought she was lying, I…"

She pulled away now, to look up at him. His eyes were shiny from tears, only meeting hers for a moment before they dropped downward. Understanding the full implications of his words, she lowered her hands from his back, squeezing them through their bodies and letting them rest on his cheeks. "It's alright," she soothed, "You had every reason to be wary, and I'm fine. Kilgharrah saved all three of us."

"Well, at least a dragon has more sense than I do," he said, and his lip trembled as he added, "But, if…if he didn't, you…you would have died, and it would have been my fault."

"Arthur…"

He broke away from her, now beginning to pace and run his hands through his hair. "I thought she was lying, I was certain she was lying! But it…it felt wrong not to go after you, and it felt wrong to heed her warning too, and…it all felt wrong!"

She kept quiet, feeling tears well in her eyes.

He kept on yelling, his voice rising with every word. "Even Merlin said I should do something, but I didn't listen, because I'm a bloody fool! You nearly died because I'm a fool!"

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was, it always is!"

The tears spilled down his cheeks, burning just as hot as the sting of his failure. "I'm such a fool that I can't see the truth when it's staring me in the face! Morgana's warning now, and before that, I sent you away and I nearly killed you myself! And then I let you leave again when my uncle plotted behind my back, and I was too stupid to see that too, and Morgana almost slit your throat! And we wasted a year – a _year_, Guinevere! – because I was too stupid to realise I was being played for a fool! Which I am!"

"Arthur," she tried again but it was futile.

"And let's not forget you were nearly burnt at the stake because I was stupid enough to tell my father I loved you!"

He seemed to run out of words after that, growing silent. The tears still ran down his cheeks and his breathing was ragged; his eyes remained on hers for a painful moment before they lowered again, just as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm a fool," he said, quietly this time.

Guinevere took a deep breath, quelling her own pain at seeing him in such a state, and went to him. She raised her hands to his cheeks, gently wiping at the trail of tears. "You are not a fool," she said with certainty, "A little foolish at times, yes, but never a fool."

Her hands moved from his face to his back, and she wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers through his hair. He relaxed against her, and she felt him breathe in deeply as he buried his nose in her hair.

"I've told you, my love," she whispered, "you must do as your heart bids you. Listening to others is not a weakness, but when their words – even my words, sometimes – feel wrong, you must turn to your instincts. Because you do have great instincts. And a great heart. You have done so many great things, Arthur, because you've been true to it."

She knew her words would offer him little comfort, but she said them all nevertheless. His doubts had weighed heavily on him for months now and she was quite certain the lack of faith in himself had made him disregard Morgana's warning now. Merlin had said to give him time but that seemed to have yielded no results; her reassurances were rather ineffective too. But she had to make him see that he was a great man – a great King – no matter his blunders.

In need of a plan, she went to Merlin hours later, after Arthur had already gone to bed. From the deep circles under his eyes, she knew he had not slept well in days.

She did visit Morgana before going to Merlin though, passing through the vaults on her way to the dungeons. After realising Morgana had been truthful in her warnings, Arthur became more reluctant to execute her. _A decision for another day_, he had said before passing out from exhaustion.

"I hear you warned Arthur I would be in danger," Guinevere said, smiling slightly when Morgana seemed completely disinterested – because she _had_ caught her slight sigh of relief at seeing her alive – before holding up the bracelet she had collected in the vaults. "This was taken from you when you were first locked here," she told Morgana, watching as her eyes widened at seeing her sister's healing bracelet, "I am returning it now."

Morgana smiled too, as she slid the bracelet onto her free wrist. "My sister said she didn't wish to see me dead," she told the Queen, as if that explained everything, and answered questions both spoken and not. And maybe it did, Guinevere supposed.

"I met with Alvarr," the latter spoke further, "and we are at peace now. When the King changes the law, he will be free. He asked after you, you know. I am sure that, when he _is_ free, he will want to see you."

She shrugged as she added, "And maybe one day, you will be free too. Perhaps Arthur will even return your magic to you, if he can find it in his heart to forgive you. The odds are…not in your favour, I'll admit, but…perhaps."

She left Morgana with those parting words, making her way to the physician's quarters. She and Merlin went to his small room, and she settled in a chair while he plopped onto the bed.

"I have to thank you for saving my life. Again," she told him in gratitude, "Thank you, Merlin."

He shrugged. "It was nothing. Arthur didn't believe Morgana, but it couldn't do any harm to send Kilgharrah to make sure you were safe."

She nodded, growing solemn. "Speaking of Arthur…"

He surprised her by raising a hand. "Before we talk about the dollop-head," he said, bringing forth a small smile from the Queen, "there is something I want to tell you. You asked me before, if I knew who Emrys was."

After a deep breath and a pause, he admitted, "It's me. I'm Emrys."

Unsurprisingly, she frowned. "Don't be silly, Merlin. Emrys is an old man."

"Well, there is this thing, it's called an aging spell…"

She blinked, blinked again, then began laughing. Oh, but _of course_ he was Emrys. Why would anyone else be Emrys? He was already the infamous young warlock and the last Dragonlord; what was one more title added to the list?

He joined her in her laughter, adding, "It's actually what the druids call me."

As he mentioned the druids, Guinevere remembered something Maerwynn's companion had told her when the two had come to Camelot, many months ago. _Emrys is known by many_, he had said, _and he shall be known to you when he is ready_.

They certainly knew many things, those druids. Wisdom of the Old Ways, indeed.

"So, you saved my life more times than I had thought," she concluded at length, "Will I ever stop thanking you, Merlin?"

"I hope not," he stated seriously, sending her into another fit of laughter. When it subsided, he circled back to their original topic of conversation.

"About Arthur," he began, serious once more, "what did you want to tell me?"

She sighed. "He…went on and on about what a fool he was," she said sadly, "I know you said to give him time, Merlin, but it's not making any difference. Nor does anything I say. He just…lost faith in himself, and…we can't push him to change the law if he doesn't think himself a worthy King. He wants to do it but…I fear that, when he has to announce it, he will sooner empty his stomach's contents off the balcony's edge than make the words leave his mouth. He told me I should just rule the kingdom in his stead, Merlin."

Merlin nodded gravely, recognising the truth of Guinevere's fears. His eyes narrowed in thought and, after some moments, a small smile began to form on his lips, growing wider each second. "I think I know of something that would do the trick."

His grin was infectious and Guinevere felt her own lips pull into a smile. "All right, great Emrys," she said, "what do you have in mind?"


	35. The Hour of Albion

Arthur barely even listened to Merlin prattle on about this or that nonsense as they walked through the woods.

His manservant had practically dragged him out of bed that morning – a bed in which he had woken up alone – and told him he had something to show him. _Nothing like a nice hike in the woods to lift a man's spirits_, he had said in usual, annoyingly cheerful manner.

Arthur was not sure _anything_ could lift his spirits. He was a fool and a failure, and it almost made him sick to think about how everyone called him a great King. About how _Guinevere_ called him a great King. Because he wasn't. The only reason he wore the crown was the blood which ran through him, the blood of a man most would call a tyrant – a man most _did_ call a tyrant. Just because he wore the title of King did not make him a worthy one, and it was time he stopped pretending. He wanted to believe he was the great man Guinevere said he was – God, did he want to – but there was no point in wishful thinking. The truth of the matter was simple; it was the Queen whose worth befitted that of a great sovereign, not his. She had made peace with those he never could have convinced, Odin and Alvarr – Morgana, even – and she had done it all with such kindness. It was her Camelot should be thanking, because they owed their peace to her, not their King. She disagreed, saying he had brought Rodor, Annis and Lot to their fold, had paved the road to a new era of equality and justice by introducing the Round Table and the tax changes; he was proud of those accomplishments, but he could not forget that he had mostly stumbled his way through the alliances with Rodor and Annis, had secured the one with Lot on the grounds of a decimated army and his skills with the sword rather than the agility of his mind, and that a better kingdom was worth very little when the King was a gullible fool.

Most would probably laugh at him, if he were to say aloud that a serving girl was worthier of the crown than the boy who trained his whole life to be King. Laughable or not, it was the truth.

Merlin's incessant chatter grated on his nerves, too. He didn't even know why he had agreed to this ridiculous walk through the woods in the first place. Maybe it was because even the manservant who had lied to him had more sense and wisdom than he did.

"I thought this walk was supposed to lift my spirits," he grumbled, "Not for your prattle to drive me insane."

His manservant paused in both his speech and stride, and when Arthur craned his head to the side to look at him, it struck him that Merlin didn't seem like an idle servant at all at the moment. If he didn't know any better, he would say his posture made him look…_powerful_.

"Sometimes, Arthur," Merlin spoke in a voice that only strengthened the King's previous sentiment, "there is wisdom to be found in prattle. You only need learn to listen."

Arthur opened his mouth to chastise him, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he found himself nodding. Merlin's lips twitched into a momentary smile before he resumed his walk.

"I have another story to tell you," he said as he moved forward, "and, if you are wise, you will listen."

Arthur thought himself the furthest thing from wise but Merlin still had his undivided attention.

"Many years ago," his friend began, "these lands were in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war. One man decided to put an end to it all, and gathered the elders of each feuding tribe, to draw the borders of their respective lands. And in doing so, he brought peace, and fathered the five kingdoms as we know them today. That man was Camelot's first King, ancestor to all who followed, including you, Arthur."

"Bruta," Arthur supplied instinctively, though he still frowned. The tale of the kingdoms' inception was every child's favourite bedtime story – prattle, for all intents and purposes – but he failed to see what it was he should listen for. "Does this have an actual point to it, Merlin?"

The other man gave him a pointed look, and Arthur raised his hands in surrender, allowing him to continue.

"Bruta was a wise man," Merlin went on, "and a great King. All know the story of how he brought peace to a war-ridden land, but not many have heard the _whole_ story. I have been fortunate to have Gaius tell me, and now, I am going to tell you as well."

Arthur's frown only deepened. Merlin carried on, "When Bruta was on his deathbed, he asked to be taken deep into the woods. There, with the last of his strength, he thrust a sword into a stone. It would serve as a test, he proclaimed, if doubt ever arose over his descendants' kingship. Because, you see, only a true and worthy King of Camelot can pull that sword out of the stone."

It was Arthur who halted their hike now, his eyes narrowing. "If this is your misguided attempt to - "

"It's not an attempt to do anything," Merlin countered calmly, "I am just telling you a story. A story which you would do well to believe in."

Arthur felt his anger build. "You expect me to believe there is a sword stuck in a stone somewhere and that only a King can pull it out?"

"Not just _a_ King," Merlin retorted, "_The_ King. The only King worthy of Bruta's crown, and his legacy. And I'm not expecting you to believe it; I am telling you it is real."

Now, Arthur scoffed. "And I actually though that you would not talk rubbish for once in your life."

"Rubbish, is it?" Merlin challenged, taking a few steps further down the path, walking backwards as a grin began to spread across his face. Arthur followed him, ready to throttle him if he spoke any more gibberish, but froze in his tracks as they passed a few trees and a small clearing came into view.

"What's that, then?"

Merlin's question was lost on Arthur as he stared at the sight before him. The sunlight weaved through the leaves and onto the ground, illuminating the great boulder which rested upon the ground, as well as well as the mighty blade buried in it, almost to the hilt.

The sword in the stone.

Arthur stood unmoving for long moments, struggling to grasp what was before him. Soon though, the leaves rustled and the twigs upon the ground began to snap, as people emerged from behind the trees, all stepping forth and coming to a stand a little ways down from the stone. The red cloaks shone in the sun, as did the ladies' silk dresses and even the commoners' aprons and simpler clothes. And above all, Guinevere. She was a light in her own right where she stood at the front, a small smile gracing her lips.

Arthur panicked, whirling around to face his manservant. "What is the meaning of this?"

Merlin stood behind him, the very image of confidence. "You are the one true King of Camelot, Arthur," he said, "and you will pull that sword out. They have come to see."

"That sword is stuck fast in solid stone," Arthur hissed, "I will make a complete fool of myself."

Merlin's confidence did not waver one bit and it struck Arthur again how unlike a silly servant he seemed now. "No," he stated, "You _will_ pull that sword out of that stone."

Arthur turned back to the crowd, his heart begging to beat faster. This was madness. No one could pull a sword from a stone, King or no King. He would look a fool.

Still, everyone's eyes were on him, expectant.

He took a cautious step towards the stone, helplessly staring at the glimmering golden pommel of the sword he was expected to pull out. His hand lifted in the air, and he clenched it into a fist when it shook like a leaf in the wind.

His fingers uncurled slowly, before they wrapped around the golden handle. Despite the sun that beat down on it, the metal was cool under his skin, but his palms were sweaty and his hand slipped.

"No other man but you can pull this sword out, Arthur," he heard Merlin speak from behind him, his voice low and grave, "Bruta brought peace by drawing lines across the lands, and you have brought it again by erasing them. That sword belongs to you. You and you alone."

Arthur swallowed tightly before gripping the sword again. He didn't slip this time, but his hand was still unsteady. His eyes lifted to the onlookers again, and his throat was suddenly dry.

Dozens and dozens of Knights watched him, all those brave men of honour who would give their lives at his one word. They followed him wherever he went, and embraced his words as their own, prepared to serve him until death. _There is no one that I would rather die for_, Leon had once said.

The people – _his_ people – had their eyes on him too, all of them showing respect and faith. Their loyalty was a debt he wanted so badly to repay; they had refused to stop calling him their Prince when Morgana had taken the throne, and when they greeted or bowed to him now as their King, their respect and courtesy was genuine.

But no pair of eyes was more important than Guinevere's. She was everything to him.

He brought his other hand to rest around the blade's handle too, and yanked. It would not budge. He tried again, his every muscle coiling and his teeth gritting against the effort, but the sword did not slide as much as an inch.

He dropped his hands with a stuttering exhale.

"You have to believe, Arthur," Merlin's voice was in his ear again, and it seemed to echo in his mind. His friend was loyal too, and brave. Not always honest but his heart was true, and Arthur could not pretend otherwise. Merlin too had shown faith in him; _unwavering_ faith. _I know you_, he had told him years ago, _you are a great warrior. One day, you'll be a great King. But you must learn to listen as well as you fight_.

That had been his advice then just as it was now; to learn how to listen. To listen to others, to his people and his friends.

To his heart. That's what Guinevere said.

His gaze lifted from the unyielding stone to the sea of faces once more, finding they had grown blurred. He knew tears clouded his eyes because they burned without mercy. Blinking the sting away, Guinevere's features sharpened. He dreaded he would find disappointment there, but his fears were soothed. Her smile still held and a certain glint lit her eyes, one he recognised well. His memories shifted to the first time he had seen it, when he sat injured and tired in a tent, and was meant to reveal himself as the rightful champion of some silly tournament. _I thought this was going to be your moment of glory_, he heard her voice as clearly now as he did that day, and he remembered his response too. _Perhaps this is a time for humility. _

And her lips had drawn a smile at those words, her eyes filled with both pride and faith. His own lips pulled into a smile as the look remained on her face. She has seen greatness in him long before that too, but the words she had spoken then could only be remembered through a haze; though he could not truly recall them, her sentiment was genuine then as it was now, years later. She still saw greatness in him, even after everything.

And he himself always said that Guinevere was never wrong.

His right hand returned to the sword, grasping it securely.

Maybe he could really do this. Maybe he could be a great King. Learn from his mistakes and listen to his heart, and build the kind of kingdom he had long dreamt of.

"You are the Once and Future King," Merlin spoke again, "Now, _pull that sword out_."

He could do this. He could be a great King.

For his people. For his loyal men. For his friends.

He let his eyes drift shut.

_For Guinevere_.

It felt almost as though it had not happened at all, when the blade lifted as if it were slicing through air rather than stone. And then it was truly air it sliced.

Arthur's arm lifted too, towards the blue spring sky, and when his eyes opened, the tip of the sword was pointed heavenward.

The blade was unlike any other he had ever held, so fitting in his grasp it was almost weightless, yet it held power too, and Arthur knew no other sword could ever match its strength. The steel was woven with gold too, engraved with symbols he could not begin to understand.

Because he had done it. He had pulled a sword out of a stone. He had pulled a bloody sword out of a bloody stone!

He could not hear a sound as his heart pounded.

Finally, the silence was broken.

"Long live the King," declared the Queen, and the woods were suddenly filled with voices, carrying through the air and scaring off the birds.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King!"

He could not help the laughter that escaped him, and his eyes travelled downwards again. They met Guinevere's, where they twinkled above her wide grin, and her hands came to rest above her heart.

He felt as though his own would explode. His Guinevere was proud of him.

* * *

The Queen and the warlock walked down a passageway overlooking the courtyard, where Arthur was currently presenting his new blade for the Knights to inspect more closely, grinning when they gushed in awe.

"He really likes it," Guinevere commented with a smile, pausing in her tracks to observe her husband. It warmed her heart more than she could say, to see him this happy again.

"Well, what's not to like?" Merlin countered lightly, standing by her side, "A blade forged in a dragon's breath, and pulled out of a stone."

"Of course, he doesn't know it was your magic that released the sword, not his kingly prowess."

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him," Merlin concluded, frowning slightly before adding, "Well, in this case anyway."

Guinevere grinned. "That is one secret I will forever allow you to keep, my friend."

He returned her smile, and it grew mischievous as he spoke again, "Care to make that _two_ secrets?"

Now, she was intrigued.

"I told you it was Kilgharrah who forged the sword," he said, "but what I didn't tell you is _where_ I got the blade from in the first place."

He bit his lip as he went on, "Do you remember when I came to your house, when Arthur was meant to fight the wraith, and the sword I took from you?"

Her eyes widened. "My father's best sword," she whispered in wonder, her eyes leaving the warlock and going back to the blade the King now twirled about for his men. It was probably silly of her to react with tears, but she could not help it.

A sword by the hand of Tom the Blacksmith, the very best he had ever made, blessed by the powers of a dragon, and pulled out of a stone to come and rest in the grip of the Once and Future King.

Who would have thought it?

* * *

With the first days of summer came the news they had been waiting for. Annis finally counted Lot amongst her allies.

Albion was born.

The first meeting of the five kingdoms united as one was set – to take place in Camelot, at the Round Table – and it was with that joyous thought in mind that the King gathered his warriors and people alike in the square, preparing to make an announcement.

He stood on the balcony, dressed immaculately in polished armour and his red cloak, Excalibur at his hip and the crown on his head, with his Queen a step behind him to his left, and Merlin to his right.

The crowd below seemed to be made of the kingdom's every citizen and Knight, and those who could not fit in the courtyard found other places to settle, with a few children going as far as climbing on the walls in order to attend.

Guinevere eyes went to the side for a moment, to one of the windows gracing the palace's towers. She saw the black hair flicker in the slight breeze, and knew Morgana was watching. Though still, strictly speaking, their prisoner, Morgana had been allowed to leave her cell and observe the event from a locked set of chambers – per the Queen's request, of course.

She could not tell what the future had in store for the High Priestess but, given that her neck had yet to snap, she wagered Arthur would let his sister live. Perhaps even in freedom, some day.

_You know, she once said to me not to think she didn't understand loyalty just because she had no one left to be loyal to_, Merlin had told the Queen one morning. _She will never be loyal to Arthur – or me – again, but I think she could be loyal to you._

Guinevere certainly hoped so.

She turned her eyes forward again.

"People of Camelot," the King began, his voice carrying strongly through the air, "my lords, ladies and gentlemen, this day marks a new beginning for our home. And even beyond the borders of our own lands, one for every man, woman and child in the five kingdoms. The kingdoms were formed in the name of peace, but it would seem the years have made us forget; quarrels and wars have led to bloodshed too many times but it is time we remember our past, and learn from it.

"It is now in the name of peace too that we come together, rather than grow apart. It is my pleasure to announce that, in two weeks' time, we will welcome the Kings and Queens of the five kingdoms as our friends, for our hearts now beat as one. We strive for a new age, the age of Albion, and we now stand as one, united in peace, in friendship and prosperity. Because there can be no greater strength, than that of unity."

Cheers and applause came from below, and the King grinned. He cast a look over his shoulder, to the Queen, and she presented him with a smile and a small nod.

He nodded in kind. There was another announcement he had to make.

Turning his attention back to the people, he spoke again. "It is in the spirit of peace, and in the light of these new alliances, that we bring more change," he said, "If the past has taught us anything, it's that war can never bring us the kind of happiness we all long for. It has taught us that prejudice and ignorance drive us to cruelty, and make us punish those who have not deserved it. Hatred can never bring peace, and justice cannot come alone; we must change, and be brave to see those changes through, in order to achieve it."

He took a deep breath as the crowd was enraptured by his words, and he was certain most of them already knew what he was going to say next. He and his Queen had, after all, ensured it.

"Magic is not a crime," he proclaimed, "nor is it an evil to be feared. Those who have it cannot fight their gifts, and it is time we stop judging them by what they were born with rather than by what lies within their hearts. If we are to have peace, then we must make it so for everyone.

"We have been living in a shadow, a shadow of wrongful accusation and unjust laws, and we must not let it cloud us any further. I therefore announce that, from this day forth, the use of magic is no longer on penalty of death. Every person of magic is free to practise their craft, as long as they do so in peace."

A hush fell over the crowd for long moments, with a few whispers here and there, and Arthur held his breath.

"Long live the King!"

Leon broke the silence, spurring the others on. They joined him in the praise, their cheers loud and happy.

Guinevere smiled so widely it was beginning to hurt, and she cast a glance at Merlin, finding that the latter was grinning too. Though tears leaked down his cheeks, his smile was blinding, and Guinevere was certain she had rarely ever seen happiness such as his.

Arthur looked over his shoulder again, grinning at her proudly, too. She returned his joy, and she could see how it pleased him, to see both an injustice righted and the people approve. A small frown marred his brow when he looked at Merlin, before he simply shook his head and muttered something about girls' petticoats.

Guinevere could understand her friend perfectly, though. Albion was born, and the ban on magic lifted; it was everything he had dreamt of. And now the time had come too, for him to make a confession to his King.

* * *

The noise of the courtyard lasted for a solid hour, Guinevere estimated, and it had yet to fully subside as the monarchs and Merlin retired from the balcony. The joyous mood would hardly stop anytime soon, though, as many celebrations and festivities were planned for the following weeks. And even beyond that, the Queen knew there were years of happiness before them.

As soon as they were out of the people's sight, Arthur reached for her, while Merlin scurried away as quickly as possible, still sniffling and laughing at the same time.

Arthur's arms went around her tightly and he made her feet leave the ground, twirling her in circles until she was dizzy. She laughed and giggled when their crowns bumped and toppled to the ground, clanking loudly, and even when the spinning stopped, he didn't allow for her to touch the floor.

She graced him with a warm smile and then a long kiss as he kept her close to him, his grip about her waist tight.

"You've done it," she whispered happily, "Everything you wanted, you've done it now."

"I never would have without you," he countered, bumping his nose against hers in affection.

"They were your dreams first," she told him, "I shared them, but you dreamt them first. And well, I would make for a shabby Once and Future Queen if I didn't help you along."

He grinned, slowly lowering her to the ground. "So, they call you Once and Future too, then?"

"Mmm-hmm," she confirmed, pressing a peck to his lips, "We are the Once and Future King and Queen, my love."

He stole a longer kiss from her before he spoke, his lips pursing in thought. "What does it mean, though?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I've no idea," she admitted with a laugh, to which he snorted. He bent to collect their crowns before bringing his arm around her waist, and he began leading them away, to their chambers.

"I could ask Kilgharrah, probably," she said, twirling her crown in her hands as they walked, "But I don't think he'd tell me."

Her voice dropped to mockingly grave note as she mimicked the dragon, "It is not always wise for one to know their destiny, young Guinevere. Are you certain you want to know? Are you _absolutely_ certain?"

Arthur laughed at her silly and overly dramatic impersonation of the Great Dragon, shaking his head as he commented, "I have got to meet that dragon. Your brother and Percival tell me he spends quite the amount of time telling everyone that he is _not_ a horse."

Guinevere giggled. "It wounds his dragon's pride, to be used for something as trivial as transportation. It is quite an experience, though, to fly on his back. Granted, your bottom is sore for weeks, but it's quite worth it."

He couldn't help but snort and shake his head again. Silly Guinevere.

When they rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the royal chambers, they found Merlin waiting outside the doors. Arthur paused in his tracks, his eyes narrowing a fraction; the way Merlin stood before them reminded him of the way he had held himself on the day he had pulled Excalibur out of the stone, and his instincts told him there was something he was missing.

Guinevere smiled. "Merlin has something to tell you," she said to her husband, pressing a small kiss to his cheek and letting him take her crown, "I will leave you to it."

Arthur frowned at the words as she moved away, but gestured for Merlin to enter the chambers nevertheless. The last thing she heard before the doors closed was the King asking if his manservant was finally ready to confess that he was, in reality, a girl.

Of course, Merlin's confession was to be of an entirely different nature, and Guinevere knew Arthur would react strongly. She expected a great deal of disbelief, some shouting and perhaps even a bit of fainting on his part, but she was certain it would work out in the end. Merlin was, after all, Arthur's closest friend, and her husband did not even bother denying it anymore. All would be well, in the end.

As she stepped back outside into the summer sun, she found herself climbing to the open passageway overlooking the courtyard from high above, and she rested her hands on the parapet.

It had been a year now, since the last summer, when she had returned to Camelot after long months in Nemeth. A lot had happened in that year. She was Queen now, and the land was united in peace. It was a long time ago that Kilgharrah had told her this would be her destiny, though she had not truly believed him. The dragon's words were clear in her mind now, and she could not help but smile as she remembered them. _As Arthur is the Once and Future King, you are the Once and Future Queen_, he had told her. _You will rule Camelot by his side as he unites the lands of Albion and brings peace to the kingdoms. You will be there to witness him become the greatest King the world has ever known._

His words had proven true, mad as they were.

No one would have believed it – even she would not have – that a serving girl could have a heart that would command such a destiny.

"I have been waiting for this day for a long time," she heard Gaius speak from beside her, and turned to look on the elderly physician with a smile. "Sometimes, I doubted I would see it come," he added, bringing his own palms against the parapet.

Her smile grew wider as she was reminded of another time she and the physician had stood in that very spot, when the city was in ruins from Kilgharrah's attack. She had been worried about Arthur, and Morgana too, and Gaius had told her never to underestimate the power of love, for he had seen it change many things.

His words had proven true, too.

"Well, it is here now," the Queen said lightly, "and it is but the beginning."

Gaius nodded, his mouth drawing a wide smile.

"Merlin is telling Arthur now," she added after a moment, and Gaius understood her meaning without need for specifications. "I am certain his shouts will sound louder than the warning bells, but it will all be well in the end."

Again, Gaius agreed with a nod, his expression turning pensive as he observed her. "You know, milady," he began, "sometimes I think the prophecies do not do you justice."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Merlin has told me of what the dragon said to him, when we thought you were certain to die," he said, regret colouring his voice, "He said it was Merlin's destiny to guide Arthur, to make him into a great King, not yours. And I was foolish too, to think our dreams could come to pass without you. Because _this_," he looked over the city, "would never have happened without you."

She shrugged. "We all do what we can to help, Gaius. I did what I could, too."

"I believe that is why they call you the wisdom of the New Ways," the physician said warmly, chuckling as he added, "Well, they call you _many_ things. The Once and Future Queen, for instance. Some praise you, while other petty souls have yet to stop claiming you are an adulteress, or a greedy serving girl. But those who speak kindly say the most peculiar things. Some still call you a High Priestess, and others a fearsome warrior. I have heard some believe you to be a goddess, too."

Guinevere could not help but chuckle as well. "The stories _are_ numerous," she agreed, "People like to talk and tell all sorts of tales. But they will find new interests and the stories will stop soon enough."

Gaius seemed doubtful of that, and Guinevere caught his look, querying, "You think they will keep telling stories about me?"

"Oh, Guinevere," he mused pensively, "I don't think they will ever stop."

* * *

**A/N: So, there you have it, folks. This monster of a fic is finished. And yeah, I figured I might as well post the last two chapters together, seeing as they were both finished. **

**Now, for a speech of my own. I seriously cannot thank you enough for all the wonderful reviews and encouragements, and those among you who write as well know just how much it means to see others enjoy all the things that pop into your head. So, you know, thank you. **

**About the story's ending, it is rather open-ended, especially on the Arthur/Merlin and Morgana fronts. When it comes to the magic reveal, the one to Arthur, I do apologise if you wanted to see it. The thing is, and I keep telling this to anyone willing to listen, that reveal is a story in its own right. It requires at least 10k words and has to span many a chapter. As such, it really hasn't got much of a place in this story and also - and this might very well make me the fandom's pariah - I sincerely do not care enough to write it. As for Morgana, it is up to your imagination, whether she does he let go of her hatred and becomes loyal to Gwen, or remains a vengeful witch. I prefer the former, but you can interpret it as you like. **

**Also, this _is_ how I always wanted to end this story. Because I genuinely did think Arthur would lift the ban and whatnot. I went into planning this with only events up to S4 in mind, so S5 didn't really change that. Of course, S5 did influence a few details - like speech patters, Rodor and Ranulf's names, and such - but not the overall plot. I just thought I ought to point that out. **

**Anyway, enough of my ranting. I do hope you have enjoyed this last chapter, because I certainly enjoyed writing it, and thank you again for being your lovely, wonderful selves :)**


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